Picture This
by TrudiRose
Summary: AU. Is it possible to write a GastonBelle pairing that's believable and in character? Or have I lost my mind? Read and find out!
1. The Right Bait

_Disclaimer: "Beauty and the Beast" and all its characters belong to Disney._

_Dedicated to Lyssa (thinkofme), whose comments on the BATB LiveJournal inspired this story, and special thanks to Val (Shigatsusama) for suggesting the title._

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Gaston and Belle – crazy, no? It happened this way: I was intrigued by a discussion on the LJ about Gaston's attraction to Belle, and I was also thinking about the fact that in most other fanfic categories there are stories about all kinds of romantic pairings, even unlikely ones. And I started to wonder: "Is it at all possible to write a Gaston/Belle story that's actually believable and in character?" The idea intrigued me, and thus a story was born. But I want to emphasize that I really am a Beast/Belle shipper. By writing this story, I am NOT seriously arguing that Belle SHOULD have ended up with Gaston in the movie! This is totally AU, and totally just for fun, to see if I can pull it off convincingly. Oh, and let me state right off the bat that the Beast/prince does not exist in this story. I'd hate to be responsible for depriving poor Beast of his true love. :) As I said, AU. I hope you enjoy it!_

Gaston slipped his arm around Belle's shoulder. "What do you say you and me take a walk over to the tavern and take a look at my trophies?" he suggested, leading her in that direction.

But Belle pulled away. "I'm sorry, Gaston. Maybe some other time. I have to get home to help my father."

Gaston watched with annoyance as Belle hurried off. "What is _wrong _with that girl?" he fumed to LeFou. "Is she blind? Can't she see I'm the handsomest man in town? She should be _begging _to spend time with me!"

LeFou shrugged. "She's crazy, Gaston, just like her father. What do you expect?"

Gaston shook his head. "It's all those books she reads – that's the problem. Her head is so full of ridiculous stories, she can't see what's right in front of her face!" He slammed his fist into his palm in frustration. "I've tried to make her see reason. I keep telling her it's not right for a woman to read, that she should pay attention to me instead. But she just doesn't listen!"

"Honestly, Gaston, I don't know why you care about her so much," said LeFou. "I think you should go for one of the triplets. They all _love _you! And they're really pretty, too."

"Not as pretty as Belle," Gaston said firmly. "Belle is the most beautiful girl in town. She's the one I want. And I _always _get what I want."

"That's true," LeFou acknowledged.

Gaston paced, trying to think. "There _has _to be a way to get her interested in me. But how?" He stopped short and looked at LeFou. "What do normal men do when they want to impress a girl? Men who aren't irresistibly strong and handsome, I mean?"

LeFou screwed up his face with the effort of thinking. "Well…sometimes they buy them presents," he offered.

Gaston's eyes lit up. "Great idea! I'll buy her a present! I'll get her flowers! No…that's too common. Any idiot could pick some flowers. What else…I know, I'll get her jewelry! A diamond necklace! _That _will get her attention!" Gaston beamed in satisfaction.

"I don't think that will work," LeFou said doubtfully.

Gaston scowled and grabbed LeFou, glaring at him. "_What _did you say?" he said threateningly.

LeFou winced. "I just meant that Belle doesn't seem like she'd _like_ jewelry," he explained hastily. "She wears really plain dresses, she always has her hair in a ponytail…Not like the other girls, always fussing with their hair and buying pretty things. Belle doesn't seem to care _what _she looks like. Like I said, crazy."

Gaston let him go. "You're right. I've never seen her wear jewelry. It has to be something else, then. Something she likes." He frowned. "The problem is, all she likes is books."

"So get her a book," suggested LeFou.

"A _book?" _Gaston burst out laughing. He cuffed LeFou on the head for such a ridiculous suggestion. "Why would I want to get her a book? I _hate _books!"

"I _know _you hate books. So do I. But Belle likes them," LeFou pointed out, rubbing his head.

Gaston thought about that. "That's true," he said. The wheels in his head were turning, albeit slowly. "Belle likes books. So if I give her a book, she'll like _me!"_ He grinned. "It's brilliant! I'm a genius!"

"But it was _my—" _LeFou abruptly snapped his mouth shut. Nothing good could come of finishing that sentence.

Gaston rubbed his hands in anticipation of winning Belle at last. "All right. I'll see you later. I'm off to the bookstore!"

Gaston strode to the bookstore, slammed the door open and marched inside.

The elderly bookseller stared in astonishment. Gaston was the last person he had ever expected to see in his establishment. "May I help you?" he asked politely.

"I need a book," Gaston proclaimed in his booming voice.

"Certainly. What kind of book?" asked the bookseller.

Gaston paused. He hadn't thought that far ahead. But he quickly came up with the answer. "Whatever Belle likes."

"Oh," said the bookseller in realization. "It's a present for Belle?"

Gaston nodded.

The bookseller wasn't sure what to make of this. He knew that Belle disliked Gaston, and he didn't blame her one bit. The vain hunter was the diametric opposite of everything Belle valued in people. He wasn't sure if he really _wanted_ to help Gaston in his efforts to woo her. But then again, a book _was _exactly the kind of present that would make Belle happy. He couldn't in good conscience fault the man for actually doing something right for a change.

He went to the shelves and drew out a handsome, leather-bound collection of fairy tales. "This just came in today," he said. "I was waiting for Belle to come in so I could show it to her."

"How much does it cost?" Gaston asked.

"Well, it's not cheap," the bookseller admitted. He named the price.

Gaston didn't blink an eye. "Fine." He handed the bookseller a few gold coins and took the book.

"Do you want me to wrap it up for you?" the bookseller asked.

Gaston looked pleased. "That's a good idea. Make it really impressive."

Package in hand, Gaston knocked on Belle's door. She opened it. "Oh. Bonjour, Gaston," she said politely. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Isn't it though? I'm just full of surprises," he said smugly. He presented the package to her with a flourish. "This is for you," he proclaimed proudly.

"Oh," she said in surprise. "A present. Well…thank you." Her tone was doubtful. Hesitantly, she opened it.

But when she saw the book, her eyes lit up. "Oh!" she cried. "This is wonderful!" She began flipping through the pages eagerly. "Thank you so much!"

"You're welcome," said Gaston, grinning. He was delighted at her total change in demeanor. His plan was working perfectly – he was definitely scoring points with her.

Belle looked up at him questioningly. "Why did you get this for me? I thought you didn't like books."

He shrugged. "I don't," he admitted. "But I know you do. I wanted to get you something you'd like."

"Oh," she said. "Well, it was very thoughtful of you. Thank you."

He took the book from her and glanced through it. It had _so_ many pages! It would take years to read, he thought. "But honestly, Belle - how can you read this? I mean, what's the point?" he asked.

Belle knew it was a waste of time to try to make him understand. But it _was_ nice of him to get the book for her, so she gave it a try. "When I read books…it takes me away from here," she said slowly. "I get caught up in the story, and I feel like I'm in a far-off place, where exciting things happen."

Gaston looked confused. "But why would you want to be in another place? This is a good village."

Belle sighed. "It's just that every day is the _same _here. I want to see new things, _different _things." She tried to think of a way to put it in terms he'd understand. "When you go hunting, why do you do it?"

"What do you mean?" Gaston asked, puzzled.

"Well, what do you like about hunting? Why do you enjoy it?"

"Well…" Gaston had to think about it. "I like going into the forest, not knowing what's out there, what I'll catch that day. I like looking for the signs, tracking down the game. I like seeing a deer far off in the distance, and aiming just right, and making the perfect shot, knowing that no one else could have done it. I like bringing home a trophy and showing it to everyone."

"So…would you say that each hunt is different? That it's exciting, an adventure? You don't know what will happen?" suggested Belle. "And that you like testing yourself, facing a challenge and triumphing over it?"

"Yes!" said Gaston. "That's it." She had a good way of putting things into words, he had to admit.

"Well, that's how my stories make me feel," Belle said. "Here in the village, all there is is cooking and cleaning and sewing. It's the same routine every day. But in my stories, there are adventures, people doing exciting things and overcoming great challenges. And I feel…swept away by it, like I'm really there."

"Hmm," Gaston said. It sounded like crazy talk to him. He looked at the book. "But it's just _words, _BelleIt's not _real."_

"I know," she said. "But it _feels_ real, when I read." She looked at him curiously. "Did you ever _try _to read, Gaston?"

He shrugged. "In school, when I was a kid. It was boring. It took forever to get through one page. I was glad to be done with it."

"Well, that's how it is when you're not…" She stopped herself. She had been about to say "when you're not good at it," but she realized that Gaston would be offended at the idea that there was anything he wasn't good at.

"…when you're not used to it," she amended. "At first, when you try to read, it IS very slow. You have to sound out the words. But after you've been practicing a while, it comes easily and goes very fast. And that's when you start to really see the pictures in your mind."

Gaston looked skeptical. Belle suddenly had an idea. "Wait. I'll bet I can find a book that even _you'd_ like." She headed to her bookcase and ran her finger along the spines, searching for the right one.

Gaston laughed. "I don't think so!" But he was enjoying himself. This was the most successful conversation he'd had with Belle since he'd met her. She was actually paying attention to him, looking into his eyes, talking enthusiastically to him, instead of pulling away and making excuses.

He wondered why he'd never thought of this strategy before. He should have remembered that in a hunt, different game required different approaches. Chasing down a rabbit with a pack of baying hounds was completely different from sitting silent and still in a tree stand for hours, waiting for the deer to show themselves. He might not like books himself, but it was the right bait to draw Belle into his snare, and that was what mattered.

Belle found the book she was looking for. "Here we are!" she said triumphantly. She showed it to Gaston. _"The Legend of Hercules."_

He looked at the book. The cover showed a huge man with rippling muscles, fighting a creature with nine snake heads. "He looks pretty strong," said Gaston. "But not as strong as me," he added with a smirk.

Belle smiled. "Here, sit down."

Gaston looked panicked. "You don't expect me to READ this, do you?" The thought of having to actually slog through a book by himself filled him with dread.

Belle laughed. She had a lovely laugh, he thought. Like music. "No, I won't put you through that torture," she said in amusement. "Just sit down, and I'll read it to you."

"All right." He sat down on the sofa. Belle sat down on a chair facing him, opened the book and began to read. Gaston paid no attention to the words. He was too busy enjoying the sound of her voice, and the sight of her as she read. With her eyes focused on her book, he was free to gaze at her as much as he wanted, and he took advantage of it.

He was astonished at the change in her as she read aloud to him. It was so different from the cool, forced mask of politeness she usually wore when speaking to him. Her eyes were sparkling, her voice was animated, her expression was so lively and radiant. She practically glowed. She was the most beautiful, irresistible woman he'd ever seen. He wished he could grab her and kiss her right now.

Belle looked up. "Gaston! You're not paying attention!" she scolded.

"Yes, I am," he protested.

She glanced at him sideways, a look that said she knew better. "Close your eyes."

"Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"Don't ask questions. Just do what I tell you." She reached out and touched his eyelids, gently closing them.

The light touch of her fingers sent a thrill through him. Normally he would have bristled at _anyone _daring to say to him "Just do what I tell you." But hearing it in a teasing tone from a woman he was so attracted to…it was strangely exciting. He kept his eyes closed. "All right. I'm at your command," he said jokingly. "What now?"

"Now, just listen to the story," Belle said. "Try to see the pictures in your mind." She wondered why she was even bothering. He was never going to appreciate literature. But she couldn't pass up the opportunity to at least _try _to get someone in the village to enjoy books, even if it was only Gaston.

Gaston sighed, allowing himself a moment to wish that she would do something much more enticing to him with his eyes closed than merely _read._ He heard pages rustling as Belle opened the book.

With his eyes closed, there was nothing to do _but _listen to the story. Gaston slouched back against the sofa cushions, prepared to be bored out of his mind.

"…but Hera was jealous of the infant Hercules," Belle was saying. "She sent two poisonous snakes to kill the baby. The snakes slithered into the cradle, ready to strike with their wicked fangs. But in a flash, the baby seized both snakes in his chubby fists, and squeezed them with unbelievable strength. When his parents came into the room, they were shocked to see Hercules, laughing, with the two dead snakes dangling from his hands."

Gaston sat up straighter. Despite himself, he was interested. Belle saw that she had his attention, and smiled to herself triumphantly.

She quickly summarized the next part: about Hercules growing up, being driven into a temporary fit of madness by Hera, and murdering his wife and children. It was dramatic, but she didn't think Gaston would relate to it. But soon she reached the part she was looking for: Hercules' twelve labors for King Eurystheus of Mycenae. If anything had a chance of getting Gaston interested in a book, this was it.

"King Eurystheus decided Hercules' first task would be to bring him the skin of a monstrous lion which terrorized the hills around Nemea," Belle read. "But when Hercules got to Nemea and began tracking the terrible lion, he soon discovered that his arrows were useless against the ferocious beast. Its skin was so thick that no spear or arrow could penetrate it. Hercules picked up his club and went after the lion. He followed it to a cave which had two entrances. The lion slipped inside. Hercules was ready to follow – but how could he vanquish the invulnerable monster?"

Belle paused for dramatic effect. Gaston was listening intently.

"Hercules blocked one of the entrances, then crawled inside the other," Belle continued. "Slowly he approached the fierce lion, which roared and leaped at him, ready to slash him with its sharp claws and deadly fangs. Hercules grabbed the lion in his mighty arms and, ignoring its powerful claws, he held it tightly until he'd choked it to death."

Gaston smiled. _I could do that, _he thought smugly. He pictured himself as Hercules, fearlessly going after the lion and killing it with his bare hands. In fact…with a bit of embellishment, that might make a good story to tell the others at the tavern, he mused. They were always eager to hear about his exploits, and he had no qualms about exaggerating them.

Belle went on to say that Hercules wore the lion's skin as a cloak, which made Gaston think of his own bearskin rug at the tavern. This Hercules was his kind of guy, he thought.

"The second labor was to kill the many headed, monstrous Hydra," Belle read. "From the murky waters of the swamps near a place called Lerna, the Hydra would rise up and terrorize the countryside. A monstrous serpent with nine heads, the Hydra attacked with poisonous venom. Nor was this beast easy prey, for one of the nine heads was immortal and therefore indestructible. Hercules drove to Lerna and by the springs of Amymone, discovered the lair of the loathsome Hydra.

"First, Hercules lured the coily creature from the safety of its den by shooting flaming arrows at it," she continued. "Once the Hydra emerged, Hercules seized it. The monster was not so easily overcome, however, for it wound one of its coils around Hercules' foot and made it impossible for the hero to escape. With his club, Hercules attacked the many heads of the Hydra, but as soon as he smashed one head, two more would burst forth in its place! To make matters worse, the Hydra had a friend of its own: a huge crab began biting the trapped foot of Hercules. How could he defeat it – or for that matter, escape with his life?"

Belle stopped reading. Startled by the sudden silence, Gaston opened his eyes. "Go on," he urged. "What happens next?"

Belle closed the book, very casually. "Oh, I thought we could finish it tomorrow," she said lightly. "It's getting late."

"No!" Gaston stood up. "Finish it now! I want to know what happens."

"But Gaston," Belle said teasingly, "it's just a _book._ It's not _real. _And books are boring, remember?"

Gaston scowled. "All right," he conceded grumpily. "_This _one is good. Now finish it."

"I'm very glad to hear you say that," Belle said, smiling. "But it really _is _getting late. My father will be coming upstairs from his workshop soon. I have to get dinner started. But why don't you come back tomorrow? We can finish the book then."

Gaston started to get angry. He had ordered her to finish reading the story, and she had _refused!_ How dare she?

But then the realization penetrated his brain that she had actually invited him to her house tomorrow. Belle – the girl who couldn't spend two seconds in his company without squirming away and making up some hasty excuse why she had to leave. She had spent the whole afternoon with him, apparently enjoying herself, and now she was _willingly _inviting him back. He hadn't even needed to suggest it.

True, he _could _force her to finish the story now – but if he did, he would lose the golden opportunity of coming back the next day. He'd be foolish to do that.

So instead, he nodded. "All right. Tomorrow then."

As she walked him to the door, Maurice came up the stairs. "Oh, I didn't know we had company!" he said. "Hello, Gaston."

"Hello, Maurice. How's the inventing going?" Gaston asked. Privately, he thought Maurice was a nutcase, but he figured it wasn't a good idea to let Belle know that. She adored the old buffoon.

Maurice beamed with delight at being asked about his work. "Oh, fine! Fine! There are a few more kinks to work out, but I think I just about have it licked!"

"Good, good," said Gaston absently, not paying attention.

He took Belle's hand and kissed it. "I had a good time today, Belle."

"I did too," Belle replied, sounding amazed to hear herself say it.

"I'll see you tomorrow." With a wave, Gaston left. Belle closed the door behind him.

Maurice sat down at the table as Belle went to get dinner ready. "That's nice, that you had a visitor," he said cheerfully. "What did he want?"

"He brought me a present, actually," said Belle. "A book."

"A book!" said Maurice. "Well, that was nice of him."

"Yes, it was," said Belle slowly. She stirred the soup absently, trying to figure out just how she felt about the afternoon. Gaston's motives were transparent; it was obvious to Belle that he had gotten her the book purely to get on her good side. He had been pursuing her for months without success, so apparently he'd decided to switch tactics. That was all. He was still the same conceited, arrogant oaf he'd always been.

Still…it was a refreshing change from him lecturing her about "proper womanly behavior" and pulling her books out of her hands. It actually had been a surprisingly enjoyable visit, which was something she _never _would have imagined possible in Gaston's company. She felt a sense of triumphant satisfaction in recalling how he had been caught up in the Hercules story despite himself. At least she had proven her point – that books _could _be exciting, even to someone like him.

And at least it was something _interesting _for a change. Belle had always been so restless and bored in the sleepy village, where every day was exactly like the one before. But today…today had been different. Today had been surprising and unpredictable. As Belle sat down to eat, she found herself smiling.


	2. Just a Little Change

"So, how did it go with Belle yesterday?" LeFou asked the next day.

"Great," Gaston boasted. "Giving her that book totally did the trick; I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner. I spent the entire afternoon at her house, _and _she invited me back today. You watch: she'll be eating out of my hand in no time." He grinned in a self-satisfied way, very pleased with himself.

"Wow!" LeFou was impressed. "So, what did you do at her house?"

"Oh…" Gaston said awkwardly. "Well…actually…she read a book to me."

LeFou snorted with laughter. "A _book?_ That must have been torture!"

"Oh, it was," Gaston lied. He couldn't very well admit to LeFou that he had actually _liked _the story. He had a reputation to maintain. "But it's all just part of my plan to win Belle," he added quickly.

At that moment, Belle approached. "Ah, Belle! Good morning," Gaston greeted her.

Belle smiled warmly at him – something that had never happened before, he noted with satisfaction. "Bonjour, Gaston."

Gaston put his arm around her possessively. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

"Yes," she agreed. But she discreetly removed his arm from her shoulder, apparently finding the gesture too intimate at this point.

Gaston was miffed. She was _so _unbelievably hard to get! All the other girls in the village would have been swooning with joy if he'd put his arm around them. Belle's coyness was maddening. It frustrated him.

And yet…it also intrigued him, and made him that much more determined to have her for himself. Every other girl fell at his feet with no effort on his part at all. But Belle was different. She presented a real challenge. And Gaston _never _backed down from a challenge. When he finally _did _win Belle's hand – and he had no doubt he would – the triumph would be all the sweeter, he thought.

"How are you today, Gaston?" Belle asked in a friendly way.

"Wonderful!" Gaston proclaimed. "I went out hunting early this morning. By 8:00, I had gotten three geese, two rabbits,and a small deer. Now of course, for _most_ men, that would be an amazingly successful haul after a full day of hunting. But for me, it was just a warmup." Gaston preened egotistically. "I was after something bigger. And an hour later, I saw it: a tremendous moose, about 800 lbs., with a huge rack of antlers. I knew it would make a fine trophy for my wall, and I was determined to have it. It was a good 90 yards away – an impossible shot, most would say. But not for someone as incredible as _me!_ I raised my rifle, took aim…"

Gaston's words slowly ground to a halt as he looked at Belle. She was wearing that polite, slightly glazed look that she always had when he started talking about himself. Normally he would never have noticed it; he was much too self-absorbed to be observant of others' reactions. But the contrast between the enthusiasm, warmth, and friendliness she'd shown him yesterday, and the cool, forced smile she wore now, was so blatant that even _he _couldn't miss it.

He was frustrated. He wanted her to treat him the way she had yesterday. She had liked him then, at least a little. He _had_ to have more of it. But how could he get her to act that way again? He frowned, trying to work it out.

Belle looked at him, puzzled as to why he'd fallen silent. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he said, still staring at her. Then, very slowly and deliberately, as though speaking a language foreign to him, he asked, "How was the book I gave you? Did you like it?"

Belle smiled, amusement in her eyes. "How kind of you to ask. Yes, it was wonderful. Thank you again for giving it to me."

_Much better, _Gaston reflected with satisfaction. She was definitely warmer than she had been a moment earlier. Gaston thought again, considering his next words. "What was it about?" he tried.

"It was a collection of fairy tales and folk tales. They were just the kind I like, too – full of magic and adventure and romance," said Belle happily. "One story was about a boy who found a magic lamp, and discovered that it held a genie who granted him three wishes. Another was about a mermaid who wanted to become human. My favorite was about a Chinese girl who dressed up like a boy so she could join the army."

Gaston wrinkled his nose in distaste. "A girl joining the _army?"_

Belle laughed at his incredulous expression. "Well, that's why she had to dress up like a boy! Because everyone around her had that exact attitude – that it was scandalous for a girl to do such a thing. But she ended up saving China."

"Which is why it's a make-believe story," Gaston said pompously. "A girl could never do that."

"Don't be so sure," Belle said with spirit. "There's more to some girls than meets the eye."

"Yes, I can see that," said Gaston, thinking about how strange and unpredictable Belle was. She acted so inappropriately for a girl! But there was something about her that fascinated him.

Belle looked at him kindly. She was definitely warming up to him, he thought. "So, Gaston," she said. "Do you still want to show me your trophies at the tavern?"

Gaston's eyes lit up. _Yes! _he thought. She was finally beginning to appreciate his magnificence. "Of course," he said casually. "Let's go."

At the tavern, Belle actually seemed to be listening as he pointed out each trophy and told the story of how he'd gotten each one. She even asked a few questions. But after a dozen trophies had been explained, she was starting to look tired. "This is fascinating, Gaston," she said diplomatically. "But why don't we save some for next time?"

_Next time. _Gaston was delighted to hear that there _would _be a next time. She was falling for him already, after only one day of his new strategy.

_She'll be my wife in no time,_ he thought confidently. And then, like all women, she would be so happy being busy with babies and housework and doting on her husband, the way she was supposed to, that she would forget all about that silly reading nonsense.

Then he paused. Hmmm…well, _except _for an occasional Hercules story, since the powerful hero reminded him so much of himself, he amended. Those stories were good. He'd allow her to read them to him once in awhile, he thought, feeling very generous.

"And, I do have some errands to run," Belle was saying. "But you're coming to my house later to finish the book, right?"

Gaston glanced around quickly to see if anyone was listening. Fortunately, he and Belle were alone. Gaston breathed a sigh of relief that no one had heard Belle say that Gaston was going to join her in finishing a _book. _He'd never hear the end of it. "Yep. What time should I be there?"

"How about 4:00?" Belle suggested.

"Fine. See you then, Belle," he said. He walked off grinning, imagining how eagerly she would be counting the seconds till his arrival.

Belle headed to the bookstore. "Good morning, Monsieur Liseur!" she said cheerfully as she entered.

"Hello, Belle," said the bookseller. "How did you like the new book of fairy tales?"

"Oh, I _loved_ it," Belle said happily. "I stayed up all night reading it."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Monsieur Liseur said. He hesitated, then added tentatively, "And…it seems you have a suitor."

Belle sat down with an embarrassed smile. "You noticed."

"Are you…glad about it?" Monsieur Liseur asked. He didn't want to offend her by prying, but he felt protective of her, almost like a father.

"Truthfully? I'm really not sure," she replied honestly. "If you'd asked me two days ago, I would have said 'no' immediately. Gaston's been after me for months, but his idea of 'wooing' me was to throw my books in the mud and tell me it was wrong for a woman to read. And then start bragging about his hunting trophies, and how handsome and wonderful he is. I couldn't _stand_ him!"

"I see," said Monsieur Liseur. "And now?"

She shrugged helplessly. "He's conceited, and arrogant, and he believes a woman shouldn't think at all, just cook and clean and serve a man's every whim. He's everything I despise." She was silent a moment, considering. "But…the fact that he actually boughtme a _book, _even though he hates them…that surprised me. It was definitely flattering. Even kind of sweet. He even let me _read_ a book aloud to him yesterday. I never thought I'd see that day _that _would happen!

"And today, he started out bragging about his hunting like he always does, but when he saw I didn't like it, he stopped. And then he asked me about my book – whether I liked it, what it was about." She chuckled. "I could _see _the effort he was making, struggling not to talk about himself and to say things I'd like. It was funny, really. Of course, I realize that he's just doing it to impress me. His usual tactics didn't work on me, so he's simply trying something new. But still…just the fact that he _is _trying…it's more than I ever would have expected from him. It's kind of endearing, in a way."

"I see," said Monsieur Liseur. He paused, trying to decide how he felt about it all. "You know, Belle, I've always thought of you as the daughter I've never had. I want the best for you."

"Thank you," said Belle. "But…?"

"Well…" the bookseller said. "For any other girl in town, Gaston would be a prize catch. He's handsome, he's strong, he's a good provider. But Belle – you're _so_ bright, so exceptional. You deserve someone who can appreciate you. I'd love to see you with a brilliant, educated young man who truly values your intelligence. Someone who can talk knowledgeably with you about literature, and poetry, and all the things that you like."

Belle smiled dreamily. "Oh, wouldn't that be _wonderful?"_ Then she sighed. "But let's be honest: I'm never going to find a man like that in _this _town."

"That's true," he agreed sadly. "But I'd hate to see you settle for less than you deserve."

Belle laughed. "I've only been _talking_ with Gaston – I'm not _marrying_ him!"she pointed out. Then she turned serious. "But…well…I've been so lonely here, Monsieur Liseur. You know that. You're the only one I can really talk to. I've never fit in here. Everyone thinks I'm odd, just because I like to read. And Gaston was always the worst about it. But now, for some reason, he seems more willing to let me be myself. Strange as it seems, I actually had a good time with him yesterday. I even got him to admit that some books _can _be enjoyable." She smiled at the memory.

Then she sighed, feeling confused. "But to answer your earlier question: I honestly don't know what will come of it. Or if I even _want _anything to come of it. It's just…nice to have someone acting friendly to me for a change, instead of looking at me like I'm crazy. Does that make sense?"

"Of course it does," said Monsieur Liseur reassuringly. "And I _am_ glad to see you having a good time. When you came in here today, you looked happier than I've seen you in quite a while. I can't be upset about that! Just don't let Gaston pressure you into marrying him or doing anything else that _you_ don't want to do. He can be very insistent, you know."

"Insistent, bossy, stubborn, _and _egotistical," Belle said ruefully. "Believe me, I know. He's no Prince Charming, that's for sure!" She looked thoughtful. "But…he _can _behave like a human being sometimes. When he's not being completely obnoxious, that is."

Monsieur Liseur smiled. "You have a good head on your shoulders, Belle," he said. "I know you'll be fine, whatever happens. Now, did you want to pick out a new book?"

"All right," said Belle. She immediately turned to the fairy tale shelf, her favorite. But then she paused as a thought struck her. "Hmmm…." She walked a few feet away to another shelf, ran her finger along the spines, and pulled out a book. "This one. Is it okay if I keep it a few days? Maybe even a week?"

"Of course, Belle." The bookseller looked at her choice. "Achilles, eh? Not your usual style."

"I know," Belle said. She shrugged. "Let's just say I'm trying something new. An experiment, you could say." She put the book into her basket. "Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow!"

She headed next to the shop of Mme. Reinard, the seamstress. Maurice's socks needed darning, and Belle had run out of thread the day before. But to her surprise, the shop was crowded with girls.

"What's going on?" she asked Bambi, one of the blonde triplets.

The blonde girl rolled her eyes. "Don't you _know?_ They announced the date of theannual village dance! It's the biggest event of the whole year! We're here to get new dresses." She looked Belle up and down and added, "But I don't suppose _you'll _be going. You'll probably be too busy _reading _that night." Her sisters giggled.

"Probably," agreed Belle with a smile, refusing to take the bait. She had learned that the best way to deal with the triplets was to act completely unaware of their insults. Then they had no ammunition.

She tried to get Mme. Reinard's attention so she could buy a spool of thread, but the harried old woman was too busy dealing with dozens of impatient girls to notice. _I'd better come back another time, _Belle thought.

At the door, she paused and looked back at the girls exclaiming over the brightly-colored fabrics and ribbons and bows, trying on finished dresses to the admiration of their friends, and eagerly speculating as to which young man would be their escort for the evening. She felt a bit wistful, watching them. Missing the dance itself didn't bother her; she'd never been one for primping and flirting and batting her eyes. What _did _bother her was feeling like an outcast - a girl who didn't fit in. Every other girl in town was obsessed with looking pretty and landing a husband. Belle was different. Because of that, everyone thought she was odd, and she had no friends her age, no one to talk to.

She headed home, feeling loneliness threaten to overwhelm her. _Another dull evening, another dinner with my father, _she thought with a sigh.

Then she remembered. Gaston was coming over. The thought cheered her up at once. She had company to look forward to.

But immediately on the heels of that thought came another. _I must be worse off than I thought, if I'm happy at the thought of seeing GASTON, of all people! _she thought ruefully.Was she so desperate for a friend that she would welcome even a conceited, arrogant, selfish brute? She certainly hoped not.

Then she reconsidered. No. She was being too hard on herself, she realized. The only reason she had become friendly with Gaston was that he himself had begun acting nicer to her. If he were still as rude and obnoxious as before, she _wouldn't _want his company even if he was the last man on earth, she knew.

But that got her to thinking. Gaston had bought her a book as a present. He had allowed her to read "Hercules" to him, and he had enjoyed it despite himself. He was coming to her house again today, for the sole purpose of _finishing _the story. Was there a chance there might be more to him than met the eye –a "diamond in the rough," so to speak? Could she read him more stories he'd like – even get _him _to start reading books on his own? Maybe even introduce him to great literature?

She chided herself. It was a totally ridiculous notion! But once the idea took hold, she couldn't shake it. She found herself picturing cozy evenings with Gaston talking about books, analyzing poetry, debating philosophy…She laughed at the way she was getting ahead of herself. Gaston was hardly a philosopher! But she couldn't quell the hope that rose within her. It sounded crazy…but two days ago, the idea of Gaston – the avowed book hater - actually _wanting _to hear a book read aloud would have sounded crazy too. People were unpredictable, and anything was possible. She hurried home, suddenly feeling cheerful.


	3. Invitation

"Hello, Belle! I know how much you must have missed me, but your waiting is over!" Gaston announced cheerfully, striding into the little house and flopping down on the sofa. Belle was amazed at the way he immediately made himself at home, as though he owned the place. _It must be nice to be that over-confident, _she thought dryly.

"Good afternoon, Gaston," Belle said. "Do you want to hear the rest of that Hercules book now?"

"Sure," Gaston said. Belle got the book, then started to sit down in the chair.

"Here, sit with me," Gaston said, patting the sofa next to him. Belle looked at him suspiciously. He laughed at her expression. "It's all right, I don't bite."

"Well…all right." She sat down next to him and started to read where they'd left off the day before. She was pleased to see that he was listening, and clearly enjoying the stories. He even laughed at the tale of the Augean stables. Of course, it was crude humor - the idea of a mighty hero being faced with the daunting prospect of mountains of manure - which no doubt was why it appealed to Gaston's unsophisticated tastes. Still, at least it was a start.

She looked at him speculatively. He was so…so _physical, _his bulging biceps and muscular legs testament to the hours he spent each day hunting and hiking and lifting weights and horseback riding. There was a constant, restless energy about him; even sitting on her sofa, he wasn't lazy and relaxed. His was the repose of a tiger - ever watchful even while perfectly still, ready to spring at a moment's notice. His intense blue eyes were quick to flash with anger, or show merriment at a good joke, or most often, to display smug confidence and supreme self-satisfaction…but they never, ever revealed deep contemplation or philosophical reflection. He was like a magnificent animal - graceful and powerful, but shallow of mind, focused only on his immediate needs and desires. Was she insane, believing she could transform him into a reader and thinker?

But…he _did _like the Hercules stories. That much she knew. And the idea of a man who could learn to share her interests and love books just as she did was too tempting to pass up. Surely, if Gaston made an effort, he could become the man she wanted him to be…

"What?" Gaston asked, noticing her staring at him. Then a look of realization crossed his face, and he grinned knowingly. "Ah, you finally noticed how gorgeous I am!" He preened, flexing his muscles. "It's all right; you can stare as much as you want. Everyone else does. I know it must be a treat for you."

Belle shook her head. "No, it's not that." Seeing his offended frown, she added quickly, "I mean, of course you're handsome!" Gaston relaxed. Belle went on, "But I was just wondering…"

Gaston smiled to himself. _Here it comes, _he thought smugly. She was finally going to break down and admit that he was the most gorgeous man alive, that she'd tried to hide her overwhelming attraction to him all this time, but she just couldn't resist him any longer. She was wondering – hoping with all her heart - if there was a chance he might have feelings for her, too. Gaston's grin widened as he savored the anticipation of his long-awaited conquest.

"Go ahead, Belle," he asked innocently. "What were you wondering?"

Belle took a deep breath. "Well…seeing that you've been enjoying listening to the stories, I thought…maybe you could try reading one yourself."

"Well, Belle, I've always thought you were pretty…" Gaston began. Then the meaning of her words sunk in. He stared at her incredulously. "_What?"_

"I thought you could try reading," Belle repeated hopefully.

Although he was disappointed at the lack of a declaration of love, Gaston couldn't help bursting into laughter at the absurd suggestion. It had to be a joke. "Are you _kidding?" _

"No," she said, hurt. "I just thought…"

Not paying attention, Gaston was still chuckling. "_Me, _reading! That's a good one. You're funny, Belle."

"I wasn't joking," she said quietly, upset at his reaction.

"What?" He looked at her in confusion. "Oh, come on, Belle. You can't be _serious!"_

"Why not?" she said defensively. "You liked the book – you told me so."

"Well, sure, _this_ book is good," he admitted. "It's not stuffy and boring like most books. I like hearing you read it to me. But asking _me _to read? That's going too far, Belle!" He shook his head in disgust. "God, I _hate _reading! I'd rather face a pit of poisonous snakes!"

"All right!" she said, stung. "You've made your point! Forget I said anything."

"Good," said Gaston, satisfied that she'd come to her senses and given up such a ridiculous notion. "Now, finish the story." He nodded at the book she held.

"Oh, never mind," said Belle. "I'm not really in the mood anymore." She got up to put the book away.

Gaston looked at her, exasperated. "Oh, for crying out loud…" he muttered, rolling his eyes.

"What?" said Belle.

"Fine - you want me to read, I'll read!" he said ungraciously, jumping up and grabbing the book out of her hands.

"Don't do me any favors!" she snapped.

He glared at her. "Look, Belle, I'm doing what you asked me to do!" he retorted. "So you should be…you should be…" He sputtered, trying to find the right words.

"I should be _what?" _Belle said challengingly. If he dared say anything condescending about how a woman was "supposed" to act…

"You should be _nice _about it!" he yelled. "I'm going to do something I _hate, _just to make you happy! You should say 'Thank you, Gaston!'"

Belle looked at him, and despite herself, couldn't suppress a giggle. In that moment, he seemed not like an irate man, but like a little boy whining "It's not fair!" Her anger faded. "Thank you, Gaston," she said, smiling in amusement.

He looked at her suspiciously. Was she making fun of him?

"Really," she assured him. "It _is _nice of you to do this for me. I appreciate it."

Mollified, he sat down again. "Good," he said. He looked at the book in his hands and sighed. "You _really _want me to do this?"

"Please," she said.

Reluctantly, he opened the book and stared intently at the words. But he didn't start reading. Belle was surprised to see that he looked hesitant and unsure of himself – an expression she had never seen on his face before. He was always so confident. He noticed her waiting for him to begin and said defensively, "I haven't done this in 10 years, you know."

She understood immediately. He wanted to impress her with his magnificence, but instead, he was being forced to do something that he was utterly incompetent at, and worse, something that _she _excelled at. He was afraid of making a fool of himself in front of her, and probably even worried that she would laugh at him.

She smiled reassuringly and put her hand on his. "You know, Gaston, most people who hadn't read a book in 10 years wouldn't even remember _how," _she lied. "They wouldn't even recognize the letters. So, I don't expect you to be able to read - I just want you to try, and I'll help you."

Emboldened by her words, and pleased by the touch of her hand on his, he looked at the book again. _"I_ know the letters," he said, bragging.

She smiled encouragingly. "Good! That's very impressive."

He took a deep breath and plunged in. "Af…after…Her…Her…"

"Hercules," Belle supplied.

"Right. I knew that," Gaston said. "After Hercules re…re…returned…"

Belle watched him as he struggled through the page. She liked the fact that he was concentrating so hard, focusing on trying to get it right. She admired his determination, if not his literacy. In the past, his stubborn, bullheaded persistence had irritated her: it had made him continue to pursue her despite her blatant lack of interest, refusing to take no for an answer. But now, that very same trait was a major advantage, she thought. When Gaston set his mind on a goal, nothing could stand in his way. If he wanted to master reading, he _would _master it.

Her hopes began to soar. True, he was stumbling over the words now, but in a few months, maybe a year, he _would _be a proficient reader, sharing all her favorite books with her. She could hardly wait.

Watching him, she was also surprised to realize that he actually _was _handsome, when he wasn't wearing the egotistical smirk that had always marred his features in her eyes. Struggling so hard to do something he wasn't good at, he displayed an uncharacteristic vulnerability that appealed to her.

Finally he finished the page, and let out a huge breath of relief. "Whew! Thank God that's over." He looked at Belle. "I hope you're happy, because I am _never _doing that again."

She was startled. "Oh, no, Gaston!" she protested. "You did so well for your first time. You _have _to do it again! You can't give up now. You have to practice if you want to become good at it!"

"But I don't _want _to become good at it!" Gaston exploded. He stood up angrily. "Damn it, Belle, enough is enough!" He slammed the book down on the table.

"What do you mean?" she asked, bewildered by his outburst.

He paced the floor, shaking his head and ranting at her. "You know, Belle, all the other girls in town go out of their way to make _me _happy. I don't have to do a _thing. _I just smile at them, and they'll do anything I ask them to! But with you, it's different. I've been bending over backwards to make you happy. I bought you a book, I let you read to me, I even read out loud _myself, _even though I _hate _it! But it's never enough for you! Instead of being grateful, you keep wanting more and more!"

He stopped pacing and glared at her, his blue eyes flashing like lightning. "And now, you tell me I _have _to read more? I don't _have _to do anything, Belle. NO ONE tells Gaston what to do! Especially not a woman!"

Belle bristled at the "woman" comment, but before she could snap back at him, Gaston interrupted.

"What do you _want _from me, Belle? It's like you're trying to turn me into some kind of…of bookworm!"

His choice of words stopped her short. _You're trying to turn me into…_

He was right, she realized, startled. She _was _trying to turn him into something different: the kind of man she wanted, a reader and lover of books, a deep thinker. And it wasn't fair to him.

She remembered all the times Gaston had criticized her reading, telling her to act more like a woman – his idea of what a woman "should" be. She had resented it bitterly, wishing people would simply accept her for who she was, not try to make her change. But here she was, doing the exact same thing.

As much as she wanted a different kind of man, she couldn't force Gaston to be something he wasn't. It was disappointing, but it was the truth.

"You're right," she said quietly.

Gaston, who had just opened his mouth to rant some more, was thrown off by her words. "I am?"

She nodded. "Yes. I always hate it when people try to force me to conform to their preconceived notions of what's appropriate for a woman. But by forcing you to read, I was doing the same thing, trying to make you fit a certain ideal. It was hypocritical of me. I'm sorry."

Gaston had no clue what she was talking about. "Conform?" "Preconceived notions"? "Hypocritical"? It was like she was speaking a different language. But those last two words – _those _he understood, and he seized on them. "That's all right," he said, calming down. "Just don't do it again."

"I won't," she said, feeling dejected. It had been a silly dream. With her bubble burst, she felt lonelier than ever.

Sighing, she sat down on the couch. Gaston plopped down next to her, good-natured again since she had apologized. "So," he said cheerfully. "Do you want to finish that story now?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm kind of tired."

He looked at her in surprise, bewildered by the sudden change in her. She looked as though all the life and vitality had drained out of her in an instant.

He put his hand under her chin and tilted her head up, looking into her face. Were those tears in her eyes?

"Hey, cheer up," he said, concerned. "I'm not mad anymore." He hesitated, then added apologetically, "I shouldn't have yelled at you." He should have remembered that women were sensitive, emotional creatures, he thought.

"It's all right," she said. But her expression didn't change.

He frowned. "So what's wrong?" he persisted.

She sighed wearily. "It's too complicated to explain."

Gaston didn't know what to make of that. Belle was so hard to understand! They had been having a good time earlier. Then they'd gotten into the argument, but even when she was angry, she had been full of spirit, ready to snap right back at him. But now, when the argument was over and everything should be fine, suddenly she was quiet and sad.

He looked at her helplessly, not knowing how to bring her back to the happy, friendly Belle she was before.

Then he brightened as an idea came to him. A joke! Most of the ones he knew were risqué, so they wouldn't do. He tried to think of one that was inoffensive to a lady. "Belle," he said, to get her attention.

She looked up. "What?"

"What time is it when the clock strikes 13?" he asked.

She was puzzled. "I don't know."

"Time to get a new clock." In case she didn't get it, he added helpfully, "Because it means it's broken, see?"

She giggled despite herself. Gaston was pleased. "That's my girl! I knew I could cheer you up."

Belle smiled. "Thank you, Gaston," she said sincerely. He was certainly no intellectual, but he _could_ be nice sometimes. She looked at him, reflecting. He was never going to be the man of her dreams; that was obvious. But…he could be a friend. And that was more than she'd had a few days ago.

The sound of footsteps made them both look up. Maurice had just come up the stairs. "Hello!" he said jovially.

"Hello, Papa," Belle said, standing up. "I'll go start dinner now." She looked at Gaston. "I'll see you tomorrow, all right?"

"Why don't you ask Gaston to stay for dinner?" Maurice suggested. He liked the fact that a young man was paying so much attention to Belle. He knew how lonely she had been since they had moved to the village a year earlier.

Belle was surprised. She hadn't thought of that. She looked at Gaston speculatively, hoping it wouldn't give him the wrong idea. Asking a young man to dinner with one's parents was often considered a sign that a betrothal was imminent. But since Maurice had extended the invitation, Belle couldn't rescind it without looking unbelievably rude. "Do you want to?" she asked awkwardly.

"Of course," Gaston replied immediately. He sat down at the table and watched Belle fussing about the kitchen, preparing the food. He pictured her in his own house, making dinner just like this, while six or seven little boys played at her feet. Perfect. Gaston smiled. Soon, very soon, that bright future would be theirs.

Maurice sat down across from Gaston. "So, Gaston, did you go hunting today?" Maurice asked conversationally.

"Naturally," replied Gaston. He launched into the hunting story he'd started to tell Belle earlier. Maurice listened with interest. _Hmmm, maybe the old man isn't so bad after all,_ Gaston thought.

When Gaston got to the part about the 800-pound moose, Maurice looked intrigued. "It must be difficult to bring such a tremendous animal back to the village, isn't it?" he asked.

"Not for me," Gaston said with a shrug. "I just tie a rope around it and drag it back. The other men usually use a cart, though."

"I wonder…" pondered Maurice. "Perhaps it would be possible to invent a device that could lift a heavy animal like that easily and convey it back to one's home."

"You think so?" Gaston asked, interested. "It would come in handy, that's for certain."

"I'll have to think about that," Maurice said, inspired by the thought of a new invention.

As Belle brought the tray of food to the table, she smiled to see her father and Gaston talking. She had to admit, it was pleasant to have company. It occurred to her that her father might have been lonely over the past months, too.

After dinner, Belle walked Gaston to the door. "Come outside, Belle," Gaston said. "I want to tell you something." Curious, she stepped outside with him.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I have some good news for you," he announced importantly. "You know that the annual village dance is coming up. Well, I've decided to pick _you _to go with me!" He beamed, waiting for her to be overjoyed.

Belle was taken aback. "To the dance? Oh, Gaston…I don't know if that's such a good idea."

He frowned. "Why not?"

"Well, it's just…you know how this village is with gossip," Belle explained. "If we go to the dance together, people will think we're practically engaged."

_Aren't we? _Gaston thought, but didn't say it. He'd learned a lot about how to handle Belle over the past few days. She was as skittish as a deer. If he came on too strong, she bolted immediately. But if he was patient, and gentle, and didn't push, she warmed up to him and started to trust him. Eventually, he knew, she would admit her true feelings for him and agree to be his wife. But he reminded himself that to win her over, he had to take it slow.

So instead, he just pointed out, "Since when do _you_ care what people think? Everyone always gossips about you walking around reading books, but it doesn't stop you from doing it."

She smiled sheepishly. "Well, that's true," she admitted.

"Come on," he urged. "It will be fun. Have you ever been to a dance before?"

"Well, no," she conceded.

"There you go!" Gaston said triumphantly. "You're the one who complained that the village is too dull, every day the same, and you want to try new and different things. Well, this dance is something new and different, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," she said slowly, considering it. Maybe he was right. Maybe it _would _be fun. And it _was _something different, a break from the same old routine…

Gaston reached out and tweaked her ponytail. "You're so pretty, Belle. You should let everyone see it. Get dressed up, do your hair nice…you'll be the most beautiful girl there. You'll walk into the room, and they'll be stunned at how gorgeous you are. All the girls will be jealous of you." _Because you'll be with me, _he added mentally.

Belle blushed at the compliment. She'd never really thought much about her looks. She wasn't into vanity or fussing with her appearance – it seemed so shallow and pointless to her, a waste of time. But…just for one night…she had to admit it might be fun to dress up, like a princess in one of her fairy tales.

Gaston saw she was wavering, and grinned, knowing he had won. "So? What do you say?"

"Well…all right," she capitulated. "But Gaston…" She looked up at him, her voice serious. "This is important. I don't want to lead you on. If I go to the dance with you, it's just as a friend, all right? You need to know that. I don't want you to think it's more serious than it is. I like you, but that's all. Don't read anything else into it. Okay?"

"Of course, Belle," Gaston assured her. "Whatever you say." Typical Belle coyness, he thought. He was used to that by now. She always had to play hard to get. But he knew the truth. Two days ago, she wouldn't even have a conversation with him. But yesterday, she had enjoyed his company and voluntarily invited him back to her home the following day. And now, she was freely admitting that she liked him, and had agreed to go with him to the biggest social event of the year. _At this rate, we'll be married by next week,_ he thought complacently.

Belle smiled. "In that case…I accept your invitation," she said. "And thanks for asking."

"No, thank _you," _Gaston said smoothly. He was tempted to kiss her hand, but held back. _Slow and steady now…and soon she'll be mine forever,_ he reminded himself. He settled for a gentlemanly bow. "Au revoir, Belle," he said, and headed home in a fine mood. His plan was working perfectly. He was going to get exactly what he wanted, just as he always did.


	4. Differences of Opinion

Belle stepped into the seamstress' shop and waited patiently for her to finish helping the other customers. When the other girls had left, Mme. Reinard sighed with relief. "Things are so busy this time of year, with the annual dance coming! How can I help you, my dear? Need some thread?"

"Well, yes, but also…I need a dress for the dance too," Belle admitted.

Mme. Reinard looked surprised. "_You're _going to the dance?" She broke into a smile. "Ah, that's wonderful news! I don't mind telling you, Belle, I've been very worried about you. A beautiful young girl like you should be surrounded by suitors. But all that reading…" She leaned forward and said confidingly. "The men don't like it, you see. They want a girl who pays all the attention to _them, _not some book. You don't want to end up an old maid, you know!" She shuddered at the very thought.

Belle sighed, but didn't argue. She could see that the old woman meant well, even if she was a busybody.

"But going to the dance…now _that's _good to hear!" Mme. Reinard went on approvingly. "That's what a young girl _should_ be doing! Not sitting home alone reading!" Then she looked worried. "But a new dress…I have to tell you, Belle, I'm swamped with work as it is. Most of the girls placed their orders a month ago, and the dance is only a month away. I don't know how I'll manage it. Which young man is taking you to the dance, may I ask?"

"Gaston," replied Belle.

Mme. Reinard's eyes widened. _"Gaston!_ Oh, that _is_ exciting! You must be so thrilled! Well, you'll need a very special dress to impress _him,_ that's for certain." She thought about it. "I suppose if I work all through the night tonight and tomorrow night, I might be able to get most of it done…"

Belle was horrified. "Oh, no, Mme. Reinard! Please, don't go to so much trouble on my account! If you're so overworked, of course you can't do it. I completely understand."

The old woman smiled appreciatively at Belle. _What a nice girl, _she thought. Most of the other girls were so demanding, coming in every day to ask impatiently when their dresses would be done, and then when they _were _done, changing their minds about the sleeves or the trimming and asking for last-minute alterations. It was a pleasant surprise to see a young girl giving a thought to the old seamstress, instead of to her own romantic opportunities.

"Some of the girls are sewing their _own_ party dresses," she suggested. "They don't all come to me."

Belle looked apologetic. "I don't know how to do that, I'm afraid," she admitted. She could darn a sock or mend a shirt, and to save money, she had learned with some difficulty how to make one very simple dress pattern. The blue dress Belle wore had been homemade, and she had several others, identical except for color, in her closet. But a fancy party dress, with ruffles and puffed sleeves and a fitted waist? That was far beyond her meager domestic abilities.

"Well, then I'll just have to find the time," Mme. Reinard assured her. "It's all right. I know how important a party dress is to a young girl."

Belle looked around, and suddenly had an idea. "What about that one?" She pointed to the store window, in which a mannequin wore a sample dress for display.

"Oh, that's an idea!" said Mme. Reinard. "I could let you have the display dress for half price. All it would need is some small alterations to fit you, and it would be ready tomorrow. But are you sure, my dear? Most of the girls want a brand new dress, custom-made exactly as they want it."

"No, this is perfect," said Belle pleased at the thought of saving money as well as sparing the overworked old woman extra labor. She wasn't fussy about what the dress looked like, as long as it was appropriate for the occasion.

"All right then," Mme. Reinard said, smiling. "Let's try it on you." She got the mannequin out of the window, took the dress off, and gave it to Belle to try on. She took a sharp intake of breath. "Oh, Belle! It looks like it was made for you!"

Belle looked into the full-length mirror. The old woman was right. The yellow satin set off her dark brown hair and eyes in a most complimentary way, and the fitted waist accentuated her figure. The low-cut neckline revealed a hint of cleavage – it didn't expose nearly as much flesh as the outfits the triplets wore every day, but it was enough to make Belle blush. "Are you sure it's all right?" she asked Mme. Reinard.

The old woman nodded. "You look beautiful!" She stuck a few pins here and there, to tell her where the dress needed to be taken in or altered. "This will be an easy job. I'll have it ready for you tomorrow."

"Thank you so much!" Belle said happily. She paid the seamstress and went outside.

She saw Gaston leaning against the wall of the tavern across the street, surrounded by the triplets. She headed in that direction.

"So, Gaston," Bambi was saying flirtatiously, "have you decided which girl you'll be taking to the dance?"

Gaston grinned in anticipation of a memorable night with Belle. "Oh, yes."

"And…is she right here at this very moment, by any chance?" Bunny asked, batting her eyes.

Gaston straightened up. "As a matter of fact, she is!" The triplets exchanged a triumphant glance. But their smiles vanished when Gaston took a step forward and said, "Hello, Belle. Looking forward to the dance?"

Belle smiled. "You know, I actually am!" she replied. "I just ordered a dress today."

Bambi stared at her in disbelief. "_You're _going to the dance with Gaston? I thought you weren't going at _all!"_

"I thought so too," Belle said with a helpless shrug. "But Gaston can be very persuasive."

Bambi was about to say something else when Bunny tugged on her shoulder and whispered in her ear. "If Gaston is taken, we'd better hurry and get escorts lined up for ourselves, or _we'll _end up staying home that night!"

Bambi looked worried. "You're right!" A number of eligible young men had asked the triplets to accompany them to the dance, but the blonde girls had been evasive, leaving their options open in case Gaston wanted to take one of them. But now, they needed to get those invitations back, fast. They hurried away.

"Let's take a walk by the river," Gaston suggested. It was a romantic spot; it might turn her thoughts in the direction he was aiming for.

"All right," agreed Belle. They strolled past the outskirts of the village to the wide river, shimmering in the sunlight. "It's so beautiful, isn't it?" Belle turned to look up at the rolling hills, covered in trees and ablaze with fall colors, and sighed wistfully. "I'd love to see what's beyond those hills, to explore other places."

Gaston shrugged. "It's just other villages mostly, just like this one," he pointed out practically. "If you leave Molyneaux and follow the road, you get to Chatelguyon, and then Riom. If you keep going, eventually you hit Clermont-Ferrand, which is a much bigger town. It's better than Molyneaux for getting guns and saddles and horses. That's as far as I've gone."

Belle was depressed by the idea. She wanted new sights, exotic places. "I'd just like to see something _different _sometimes. Maybe have an adventure. I've never even been in the forest – Papa says it's too dangerous. They say there are wolves there."

"There are," Gaston said. "I've taken down a few myself." That gave him an idea. "Belle…you should come hunting with me sometime. You could get to see the forest, and you'd be safe with me. And…" He strutted proudly. "You could see me in action. I'll take down a deer for you. You could cook it for dinner." It still embarrassed him to think that Belle had witnessed his poor performance in reading. He wanted to replace that image with one of him being magnificent, showing off his impressive hunting skills.

Belle was taken aback. "Hunting? Oh, Gaston…I can't watch you _hunt."_

"Why not?"

Belle felt awkward. "It's just…to be out in the forest, and see a beautiful, graceful deer…and then you _kill _it?" She shuddered. "It's upsetting to me. I can't watch that."

Gaston frowned. "You make me sound like a monster, Belle."

"I don't mean to," she said apologetically. "But the idea of killing animals for sport bothers me."

"It's not _just _for sport," he pointed out. "It's for food too."

"I know," she conceded. "But you kill more than you could ever eat, Gaston. You do it for the trophies, admit it."

"Well…yes," Gaston acknowledged. Why did she have to _think _so much? He tried to come up with an answer. "But the meat doesn't go to waste; I sell it to the butcher. It all gets eaten." Then a thought came to him. "You eat pork and beef and chicken, don't you?" he pointed out. "Does it bother you that the farmer killed animals for that?"

"Yes, it does, in a way," Belle said honestly. "But I see the necessity of it. People have to eat. But when the farmer does it, it's different: it's quick, and done out of necessity. The farmer isn't killing the pig for fun,Gaston. And no one _celebrates _the death of a pig. No one puts its head on a wall as a decoration."

"And that makes it better?" Gaston asked, raising an eyebrow. "You think the pig is happier dying, knowing its head isn't going to be a trophy?"

Belle sighed. "No, of course not. But at least its death is for practical reasons. It's not a sport, not a game."

Gaston thought about that, determined to come up with a really good argument. Ever competitive, he was starting to enjoy the debate, the challenge of countering her points with his own. "If you ask me, the deer being hunted is a lot better off than the pig," he told Belle.

"How do you mean?" Belle asked curiously.

"Well, the deer has a chance, doesn't it?" Gaston argued. "There's thousands of deer in these woods. A deer could go its whole life without being shot. And if a hunter _does _shoot at it, he'll probably miss. Most hunters _do _miss most of the time – unless they're _me,_ of course," he added. "That's why hunters like trophies; they prove that we did something that was hard to do, something that took a lot of skill. We _earned _that kill. Most of the time, the deer has a good chance of getting away. But the pig is born and raised to be food, and when the time comes, the farmer just holds it and cuts its throat. It doesn't have a chance. What's fair about that?"

Belle considered this. "Well, you do have a point there," she admitted.

Gaston grinned. _I'm winning, _he thought triumphantly. "So will you go hunting with me?"

"No," she said firmly. "I understand what you're saying, and I respect your point of view. But if I go with you, you'll expect me to cheer when you kill an animal, and I just can't do that. I can't be happy about watching something die."

Gaston was about to argue further when she added, "And just the sight of it…the blood and gore…" She shivered.

The word "blood" made Gaston pause. "You don't want to see blood?" he asked. "Why didn't you say so?" That made perfect sense to him. Girls weresqueamish and sensitive, after all. Of _course_ a girl wouldn't want to see an animal shot and the blood that resulted. He should have realized that sooner.

"All right, I understand now," he told Belle. "You don't have to come."

Belle looked relieved. "Good. I'm glad you understand." She hadn't wanted to offend him. Then she had an idea. "Maybe we can compromise. Like with the reading: you don't want to read yourself, but you'll let me read to you. Maybe we can still go in the woods, and you can show me how you track the animals, what signs you look for – I'd find that fascinating. And you can show off your marksmanship too. You can shoot a target from very far away – something that's not alive. And I promise to be very impressed," she added with a teasing smile. "I'll even say 'oooh' and 'aaah.' How's that?"

Gaston grinned. She had a good sense of humor. "Oooh and aaah, huh?" he said. "Well, how can I pass up an offer like that?"

"How about tomorrow?" Belle suggested.

"I'm busy tomorrow morning, but I can take you on Friday," Gaston said.

"All right," said Belle. She studied him with a new respect. It occurred to her that he wasn't as stupid as she had always thought he was. He was uneducated, and often stubborn and narrow-minded, that was certainly true. But if you got him talking about a subject he knew well, he could hold his own in an argument. It had been sort of fun, debating with him.

"What are you thinking?" Gaston asked, seeing her expression.

"Just that you're smarter than you look," Belle replied. Too late, she realized that that could also be taken as an insult.

But luckily, Gaston wasn't one to pick up on subtleties. He puffed out his chest proudly. "Why, thank you, Belle."

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The following evening, Belle was standing in front of her mirror, holding her new dress up to herself. It really was beautiful. She smiled, thinking of the upcoming dance. And this Friday, she was finally going to get to explore the woods, venturing into unknown territory. Maybe they'd even see some wild animals. She felt a pleasurable thrill of anticipation. It was lovely to have things to look forward to.

There was a knock at the door. She went to answer it, knowing it would be Gaston. He was always on time. He saw the dress and let out a whistle. "That looks fancy! Try it on for me so I can see how you look."

She laughed. "Not until the dance! You'll ruin the surprise." She folded the dress neatly and put it aside.

Gaston sat down on the couch. Belle sat down next to him with the book. He put his arm around her…and for the first time, she didn't feel the need to remove it. She had begun to feel much more at ease with him over the past few days. And she had come to look forward to this nightly routine – reading to him, and having him stay to dinner with her father. There was something cozy and comfortable about it.

They were almost done with "Hercules" – it would be finished tonight. But she was hoping that after that, she could convince Gaston to give "Achilles" a try. She was sure he would like it; Achilles was another strong and powerful hero, after all. And from there, they could gradually move on to other stories, such as her beloved fairy tales. Nothing about elves or mermaids or fairies of course; she knew Gaston would have none of that! But there were many fairy tales about brave, strong heroes who fought giants and ogres and dragons – not so very different from Hercules fighting the Hydra, really. She was sure that little by little, she could get Gaston to enjoy more books, as long as she chose them carefully. She especially looked forward to reading him "Seven at One Blow", a story of a tailor who was not strong at all, but who, through a comic set of circumstances, gained an impressive reputation as the most powerful man alive. Given Gaston's love of bragging and exaggeration, she knew he would be amused by it.

"Looks like we're almost done with this book," Gaston commented, noticing how few pages were left.

"Yes," Belle said. "Gaston, I was thinking…when this book is finished, maybe we could go on to another? I have one about another strong hero, called Achilles – I think you'd like it." She looked at him hopefully.

Gaston smiled to himself. How things had changed in just a few days! Now, instead of making excuses to get away from him, Belle was finding excuses to _be _with him! She was worried that the end of the Hercules book would mean the end of their time together, and trying to find a way to get him to come back again.

"Of course, Belle," he said with a grin. "I'd be _glad_ to come over and hear another book."

Belle was pleased. "It's amazing how much you've changed!" she said, smiling.

"Changed? How?" asked Gaston.

"You always used to complain about my reading, and tell me it was wrong for a woman to read," Belle explained. "But now you seem to accept it."

"Oh, that. Well, once you explained it to me, I could see why you do it," Gaston acknowledged. "What you said about being bored in the village - it made sense. You're a young girl, not married yet, no younger brothers or sisters to take care of, no mother. You're all alone in this house day after day, with only your father for company, and he's busy with his inventions. I can see how you'd be bored, and lonely, and need to do _something _to fill up the empty hours."

"It _does _get lonely sometimes," Belle admitted. Maybe he did understand her, more than she realized.

"Of course, _most_ girls would turn to embroidery or needlepoint or something like that," Gaston went on. "But without a mother, maybe you don't know how to do those things."

Belle's eyes narrowed slightly. Was it her imagination, or did that sound a bit condescending? True, she didn't know embroidery or needlepoint, but she didn't _want _to. She read because she _loved_ books, not because she didn't know how to do anything else.

Gaston looked at Belle, feeling suddenly sympathetic towards her. _The poor girl really MUST be_ _lonely and miserable in her situation_, he thought. He wanted to help her.

And in a flash, he realized that he _could_. This was the perfect opportunity to reveal his plans to her. _Her life is empty now…but that's all about to change, _he thought triumphantly. _Gaston's here to make it all better. _

"I know it's been hard on you. But don't worry, Belle! Very soon, your empty days will be over forever," Gaston proclaimed. "You have a bright, wonderful future in front of you! Your fondest dream is about to come true!"

"My…dream?" Belle said suspiciously. Something wasn't right here.

"To be a wife!" Gaston revealed triumphantly.

"_What?" _said Belle. She stared at him in disbelief.

"Oh, I know how it is," Gaston went on. "You're not a child anymore, but you're not married yet…it's like you're _nothing,_ in an empty place, just waiting for that magical day when you become a bride so you can finally start a family of your own. Right? And until that day comes, you're just sitting around this house, trying to pass the time with reading. But once you're _married – _ah, then everything will change! That's when your life _really _begins. You'll finally have meaning and purpose, doing what you were _born _to do."

"Which is?" Belle was starting to get angry, but Gaston didn't notice.

"Oh, you know – to cook, and clean, and have babies, and make your husband happy…all the things a wife is supposed to do," Gaston said cheerfully. "And then, you'll be so busy and happy, you won't need to waste time with books. You'll have _real _things to do in your life." He chuckled. "Why, you'll be so busy you won't even have _time _to read!"

He smiled at her benevolently. "So I realize it was unfair of me to complain about your reading, when you have nothing else to do."

Belle was staring at him in disbelief, her mouth open in shock. Finally she found her voice. "_No, _Gaston," she said coldly. "That is NOT how I feel. I'm _not_ sitting around dreaming about marriage. I read because I _love _reading! And even if I DO get married, I'll still read! I am _NOT _giving it up!"

Gaston looked at her, surprised to see her so upset. Hmmm. She must be afraid that he wouldn't allow her ever to look at a book again, he thought. "Oh, don't worry, Belle," he told her magnanimously, giving her a reassuring pat on the head. "You can still read me these hero books once in awhile - I don't mind _that._ I just meant that you'll have much more _important _things to focus on than books, when you marry me."

_"_When I marry _you?" _Belle stared at him. "Who says I'm getting married to _you?"_

"Oh, stop it already, Belle!" said Gaston, getting impatient now. "I know you like to play hard to get, but we both know where this is going. We've been spending time together, you're going to the dance with me…it's only a matter of time until you agree to marry me. And once that happens, you're not going to have _time_ to read. You'll be busy cooking, and darning socks, and cleaning the house, and taking care of babies – we'll have six or seven, of course - and massaging my feet…"

"Massaging your _feet?"_ Belle couldn't believe her ears. "What are you, the king of France? I'm not a _slave, _Gaston!"

Gaston glared at her, his own anger rising. "A man's home is his castle, and his wife's role is to obey him and serve him," he said pompously. "I've been patient with you, Belle, I've let you do your little reading thing, but it's time for you to grow up and face facts. You can't go on like this. It's not right!"

"How _dare_ you try to tell me what I can and can't do?" snapped Belle. "You don't own me!"

Despite his own rising temper, Gaston couldn't help being distracted by how unbelievably _gorgeous_ Belle was when she was angry. Her hair had come loose from her ponytail as she tossed her head, and was all tousled and wild. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes were flashing with righteous fury. She had so much fire, so much spirit, so much _passion. _Part of him wanted to forget the whole argument and just grab her and kiss her, right then and there.

But he forced his thoughts back to the issue at hand. He couldn't let her get away with talking back to him like that, thinking she could do whatever she liked. "Look, Belle," he said sternly, glaring at her. "I need a wife who's going to _act _like a wife! I am _not_ going to marry a girl who just reads all the time, and who defies me!"

"Then it's a good thing I'm not marrying you, isn't it?" Belle shot back.

Gaston slammed his fist down on the table angrily. He was offering her the chance of a lifetime, a proposal the other girls could only dream of, yet she was _still _being so difficult! "Damn it, Belle, what is _wrong _with you!" he yelled in frustration. "Why are you so stubborn? Why can't you just do what I _tell_ you to do, like all the other girls?"

"If that's what you want, why are you even here with me?" Belle pointed out. "There's a hundred girls in this village who'll be _happy _to worship at your feet, and agree with everything you say, and do whatever you tell them to, like mindless idiots! Go pick one of _them, _and leave me alone! In fact, ask one of themto the dance!"

"Oh, believe me, I _will!_ I don't know why I ever thought I wanted a crazy girl like you!" Gaston snapped.

"And I don't know why I ever thought I could like a pompous, arrogant, selfish ignoramus like you!" Belle retorted.

Gaston didn't know what "ignoramus" meant, but he was certain it wasn't flattering. He got up angrily and marched to the door. "Goodbye, Belle," he snarled, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

"Good riddance," muttered Belle. She should have known a leopard couldn't change its spots.

She turned angrily away from the door, and her eye fell on the golden party dress. She grimaced. _Well, THAT was a big waste of money! _she thought bitterly. She should make Gaston pay for it, the arrogant lout. In the mood she was in, she felt like ripping the dress to shreds or throwing it in the fire. But she couldn't bring herself to do it – as angry as she was, she was just too practical to destroy something she'd paid good money for. Annoyed with herself, she grabbed the dress and flung it into the back of her closet.

She heard footsteps, and her father appeared at the top of the stairs. "Oh, isn't Gaston here?" he asked in surprise.

"No, Gaston is _not _here!" Belle said. She went into the kitchen to make dinner, banging the pans on the counter in irritation. "And he'd better not show up here ever again!"

"What happened?" asked Maurice in concern. "What's wrong?"

Belle sighed. "It's nothing for you to worry about, Papa." She kissed his forehead. "I'll get dinner started."

"All right," said Maurice, glad to see she'd calmed down.

But all during dinner, Belle didn't say a word, fuming in silence.


	5. What a Man Wants

Gaston stormed into the tavern, needing a drink. LeFou looked up as he came in. "How's it going with Belle?" he asked.

Gaston grabbed a tankard of ale and swallowed it in one gulp. "I'm _through _with Belle!" he snapped. "She's just too strange, with all her crazy ideas. She has _no_ idea how a girl is supposed to act!" He sat down in his big antlered chair, disgruntled.

The blonde triplets saw him and hurried over. "Poor Gaston, did that silly Belle make you mad?" Bambi cooed. "She doesn't appreciate you like _we _do!"

Bunny started massaging his shoulders. "You're so tense, Gaston. Let me help you relax."

Gaston grinned. It was such a relief to be with "normal" girls again, he thought – girls who asked nothing of him, who worshipped him without question, who devoted themselves entirely to making him happy. All he had to do was relax and enjoy the adoration, making no effort at all.

"Drinks for everyone, on me!" he announced to the tavern at large, which produced immediate cheers. Once everyone had a tankard in hand, Gaston led them all in a round of boisterous drinking songs.

"Gaston, will you show off how strong you are for us?" simpered Bubbles. "I just _love _watching your muscles."

"Oh, yes, Gaston!" squealed the other two. "Please show us!"

"Of course," Gaston said magnanimously. He easily lifted up three enormous beer kegs and juggled them. The crowd gasped and cheered. Gaston grinned, enjoying the attention.

After a few more demonstrations, Gaston sat down. He pointed at his latest trophy. "Want to hear how I got that moose?"

"Of course!" they said eagerly. Gaston looked at the girls, all their attention focused on him, their eyes full of adoration. He smiled. This was where he belonged.

He launched into the tale, making it as suspenseful and action-packed as he could. They hung on his every word, oohed and aahed at the right parts, applauded him when he finished. Gaston took a swig of ale. _Things couldn't be better_, he told himself.

Bunny looked up at him admiringly. "No one tells stories like you, Gaston!"

Gaston's smile abruptly vanished at the word "stories". Unbidden, the image of Belle reading stories to him popped into his head – her brown eyes shining with her joy at reading; her expressive voice weaving the tale, creating pictures in his mind; the way she kept glancing at him to see if he liked the story, and smiling when she saw that he did…

He pushed the thought away fiercely. He didn't need Belle. He didn't _want _Belle.

Belle was a crazy, stubborn girl who didn't do what he told her to do. He was happy _here,_ with girls who treated him as he _deserved _to be treated.

Almost defiantly, he pulled Bambi onto his lap, and put an arm around each of the other girls. "Now, girls," he said with a grin, "tell me what else you love about me."

They giggled. "Oh, where do we begin?" They launched into a torrent of praise for him. Just like girls were supposed to.

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The next morning, Belle woke and stretched sleepily. Still not quite awake, she tried to remember what day it was…oh, Friday. For a brief moment, a happy flutter of anticipation went through her. There was something good about Friday, what was it…Then, with a pang of disappointment, she remembered. This was the day she was _supposed _to go exploring the forest with Gaston.

Her mood quickly changing to anger, she got out of bed and threw on a robe, memories of the previous evening flooding back into her mind. How _dare _Gaston speak to her that way! As if she'd be thrilled to toss her books aside and gladly devote her entire existence to serving _him! _

As furious as she was at him, she was even angrier at herself, for allowing him into her life and fooling herself into thinking he could change. She should have known better. She _knew _what he was like, how he felt about women. After all, this was the man who had once thrown one of her books in the mud! He had been telling her for _months _that it wasn't right for a woman to read. How could she have expected anything different from him?

The difference was that back then his smug, condescending words hadn't bothered her. Oh, he'd been _annoying _all right, like a pesky fly buzzing around her. But he hadn't _upset _her. She knew full well what he was – an ignorant, narrow-minded, egotistical lout – so she had dismissed his opinion as irrelevant. It had nothing to do with her.

But last night had been different. _He _was different – or so she had believed. When they read together, she had felt that they were sharing something special, that he _understood _what her books meant to her. When she had disagreed with him about hunting, he hadn't dismissed her with a patronizing "You're a woman, you don't know what you're talking about." No, he had seemed to take her seriously, and argued with her as an equal.

She had trusted him, considered him a friend. And he had betrayed her. His condescending words last night had hit her like a slap in the face.

Well, better to have found out _now,_ before she had gotten any closer to him, she told herself. This way she could put the whole incident out of her mind and get back to her old life. She had a new book she hadn't gotten to read yet (_because I was too busy reading to HIM, _she thought, making a face).

She looked out the window – it was a beautiful, sunny day. She got dressed, did her morning chores quickly, then packed herself a lunch and took her book to a shady spot overlooking the lake. The sun sparkled on the water, and the cool breeze felt good on Belle face. She opened her book: "Robinson Crusoe" by Daniel Defoe. Soon the world faded away and she was there on the remote desert island, trying to find ways to survive. Happily absorbed in the tale, Belle didn't notice the hours fly by.

As the sun went down, Belle closed the book with a satisfied smile. She couldn't wait to tell Mssr. Liseur how much she had enjoyed it. She headed for home.

As she entered the house, her eye fell on the "Hercules" book, still lying on the couch. Her smile faded. For a moment, she felt wistful and a little sad. She had enjoyed the last few evenings, she had to admit. It had been nice to have someone to share books with, a friend to talk to.

_But he never really WAS my friend, _she reminded herself, her expression hardening. _A friend wouldn't deceive me and lie to me. A friend wouldn't expect me to give up the one thing I love most in the world. He was just using me - trying to win me over so I'd marry him and spend the rest of my life cooking and cleaning and practically being his slave!_

And like an idiot, she had fallen for it, her loneliness making her vulnerable. Well, it would never happen again, that was for sure. Angrily, she slammed the book into its place on the bookshelf. She never wanted to look at it again.

Maurice came upstairs. "Hello, Belle! Have a good day?"

"Wonderful, Papa," she said, kissing him on the forehead. "Sit down, I'll have dinner ready in a minute!"

But the cheery tone of her voice sounded forced, even to her.

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That night, Gaston found that he wasn't having as much fun as he should. He was restless and dissatisfied, but didn't know why. Something was missing.

He looked up at his trophies; that always made him feel better. His eye fell on the head of a wolf that was mounted on the wall. That reminded him of the Hercules book – when Belle had left off, the hero was facing the impossible task of entering the land of the dead and capturing a ferocious hellhound with three heads and razor-sharp teeth. Did Hercules win? It suddenly occurred to Gaston that he was never going to find out.

Seeing him looking at the wolf's head, Bunny cooed, "Gaston, why don't you tell us how you got that wolf!"

"Sure," he agreed. That was what he needed to distract him, he decided.

Bambi said, "Gaston is going to tell the story about the wolf!" LeFou and some of the other men looked up, and came over to listen as well. Gaston's stories were always entertaining.

"It was a chilly, gray morning last fall as I set off into the woods," Gaston began. "I was out looking for deer. But I didn't realize then that I wasn't the only one out hunting that day. Deep in the woods, far from the village, I suddenly sensed eyes watching me. I turned to see an enormous wolf staring at me from a ridge above me, ready to pounce at any moment. It was thin, and its ribs were showing, but it was as fierce and powerful as ever. The wolf bared its sharp, deadly fangs, snarling, and I knew my life was in danger: wolves are carnivorous, and this one was starving. I reached for my rifle, and—"

"Wolves are _what?_" LeFou interrupted, looking puzzled.

Gaston frowned at the interruption, the suspense broken. "What?" he snapped irritably.

"You said wolves are…carnival something?" LeFou said in confusion.

Gaston looked around. All his listeners looked equally baffled.

"Oh," Gaston said. "Carnivorous. It means they eat meat." That word had come up in one of Belle's stories, and she had explained it to him. He'd liked the sound of it: Car-niv-or-ous. It made him think of ripping fangs and slashing claws.

Bambi's brow creased. "Why didn't you just _say_ 'wolves eat meat'?" she asked.

"I don't _know!"_ Gaston retorted impatiently. "Can I continue the story now?"

"Oh, of course!" LeFou said hastily. "Sorry! And it's a great word, Gaston, really."

"A wonderful word!" Bunny chimed in quickly.

"I'm going to start using it every day!" Bubbles added. "Um…how do you say it again?"

"Carnivorous," Gaston repeated. "_Anyway. _As I was saying…I reached for my rifle…" His audience leaned forward to listen.

But the mood had been broken for Gaston. He finished up the story quickly. Everyone applauded, as always, and told him how great it had been.

"That was amazing, Gaston," said Bunny, sitting at his feet and looking up at him admiringly. "And you carried the dead wolf all the way back to the village on your shoulder? I'm so impressed! It must have been so heavy!"

Gaston looked at her in surprise. "No, it wasn't. A wolf only weighs about 100 lbs. A little less than you. It's no big deal for me to carry one."

"Oh, silly me!" Bunny giggled, fluttering her eyelashes. "I just don't know _anything!" _She sounded almost proud of the fact. She leaned against him, running her fingers up and down his arm and looking up at him flirtatiously. "This is why I need a man like _you._ To tell me things."

Gaston looked down at her. Had she always been this…this _empty-headed? _He had never noticed before.

"Yes, well, wolves don't weigh that much. Now, _that _one…" Gaston said, pointing at the moose head. "That moose _was _heavy. It weighed about 800 lbs. I dragged it back to the village by myself."

"Ooh, you're _so_ strong, Gaston," Bubbles simpered. "No one else could have done that!"

"Probably not," Gaston agreed. That reminded him of something. "Maurice says he's going to make an invention that can pick up an animal after it's shot in the forest, and take it all the way back to the village, so the hunter doesn't have to drag it."

The girls burst into giggles. "Really?" said Bambi. "That nut! He's really gone bonkers this time!"

"He's crazy, all right," said Bunny. "No wonder Belle is so odd, with a father like that!"

"I wonder what loony idea he'll think of next?" added Bubbles.

Gaston shrugged. "_I_ thought it was a good idea," he said. "It certainly would make hunting a lot easier."

The blonde girls looked at each other, then at Gaston. "Oh, of _course _it's a good idea!" Bunny said hastily.

"Absolutely!" said Bambi.

"Brilliant!" added Bubbles. "He's a genius!"

Gaston looked at them, feeling inexplicably irritated. He shook his head. What was _wrong _with him? This was what he _wanted – _girls who idolized him and agreed with whatever he said. So why couldn't he stop thinking of Belle? Belle, who had her own opinions, and argued with him, and spent time thinking…and said things that were actually _interesting_ to listen to…

He tried to distract himself. "Listen up, girls, here's a joke: What time is it when the clock strikes 13?"

"I don't know, Gaston, what?" they asked expectantly.

"Time to get a new clock," he said. "Because it means it's broken."

The girls broke into gales of hysterical laughter. "Oh, you are _so_ funny, Gaston!" Bubbles shrieked.

"That's the best joke I ever heard!" Bunny added.

Gaston suddenly realized with absolute certainty that he could have said _anything _as the punch line and they would have reacted the same way, as long as he first told them "This is a joke." He felt a sudden impulse to tell them that the sky was green, just to see if they would agree with him.

"What are you thinking about, Gaston?" Bambi asked coyly, seeing him staring at her and her sisters.

"What are _you _thinking about?" Gaston responded impulsively, curious what they would say.

The girls laughed at the silly notion. "Thinking's dangerous for a woman!" said Bunny. "I leave that to the men."

"Well, _I'm _thinking about something!" Bambi piped up.

"You are?" Gaston said in surprise. "What?"

She batted her eyes flirtatiously. "I'm thinking about how wonderful it would be to be married to a man like you," she cooed.

"I am too!" interrupted Bunny, wishing fervently that she'd thought of saying that first. "I think about that _all_ the time! Because you're so handsome…"

"And so strong…"

"And the best at shooting…"

"And the best at fighting…"

They went on eagerly, telling him over and over again how magnificent he was.

Without warning, he stood up. The girls immediately stopped talking and looked at him with the eager expression of a dog waiting for the next command and hoping to be patted on the head.

"I need some fresh air," he announced.

"Ooh, can we come with you?" they begged.

He was about to refuse. But then he had a second thought. Maybe this was what he needed to get his mind off Belle. He looked at Bambi. "You. Come with me."

Her eyes lit up in delight. Her sisters glared at her with unconcealed jealousy.

He took her hand and led her outside and behind the tavern. "What do you want to do, Gaston?" she asked expectantly.

Without a word, he embraced her and kissed her. Immediately, she put her arms around him, assuming that was what he expected of her. In his arms, she was as submissive and pliant as a rag doll. His tongue explored her mouth; he groped her breasts. She offered no resistance, no protest. He knew she would let him do whatever he wanted.

But…somehow…he didn't want to.

He let her go. She frowned in concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said. "I'm just…not in the mood."

Her face cleared. "Oh, all right!" she said brightly. As long as _she _hadn't done anything to upset him.

He sighed. "Let's go back inside."

"Okay, Gaston!" she said, smiling at him. "Whatever you want to do is fine with me!"

"I know," Gaston said, rolling his eyes.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

It was late, and the tavern was empty except for Gaston and LeFou. But Gaston still sat silently in his chair, staring gloomily into the fire.

He couldn't understand what was wrong with him. Belle did everything a woman was NOT supposed to do. She disagreed with him, expressed her own strong opinions, challenged him at every turn. She was the opposite of everything he'd wanted in a woman. He should be GLAD to be rid of her. Yet he couldn't stop thinking about her.

LeFou's voice broke into his thoughts. "So what's eating you?"

"What do you mean?" Gaston said.

"Well, you just seem kind of down in the dumps," LeFou said. "What's wrong?"

Gaston hesitated, wondering whether to tell him. "It's Belle," he said finally.

"What about her?" LeFou asked in confusion.

"That's just it. I don't _know!"_ Gaston said irritably. "She's so…different from what a girl is supposed to be like! She reads all the time. And she _thinks _so much - she has all these _ideas! _She doesn't care about getting married and having babies – she keeps talking about wanting adventure, or something. And she's stubborn, and doesn't do what I tell her to do, and she actually disagrees with me. She even _argues _with me! ME! Can you believe it?"

LeFou shook his head. "She's crazy, all right. But you got rid of her. So what's the problem?"

Gaston looked frustrated. "I miss her," he confessed. "I can't stop thinking about her. It doesn't make any sense! " He looked at LeFou in helpless confusion. "What do you think?"

LeFou stared at him for a long moment. "You're in love with her," he announced.

"What?" Gaston was startled.

LeFou shrugged. "You must be," he said logically. "I mean, usually if someone gets on your nerves, you'd stay away from them. Or beat them up," he added, remembering who he was talking to. "But if she drives you crazy, and you _still _want to be with her – well, you _must _love her, right? What else could it be?"

Gaston thought about that. His eyes widened. "It's true. I _do_ love her," he said in surprise. He stood up and walked a few steps away, the wheels turning in his head. How was it possible?

Belle was so _different _from other girls. The way she argued with him and stood up to him…it was so wrong, yet there was something about it that excited him and made his heart beat faster. She felt so _strongly _about things she believed in. She had dared to get angry at him, even to yell at him – but when she did, she was so full of spirit and fire and passion than he found her indescribably thrilling, more desirable than any girl he'd ever seen.

Women weren't _supposed _to think, he knew. They were supposed to simply agree with him and tell him how wonderful he was. But Belle _did_ think - and she came up with ideas he'd never thought about, facts he'd never known. She was actually interesting to listen to, always unpredictable. He had genuinely wanted to hear what she had to say.

He remembered their debate about hunting. At first, he had been put off when she contradicted him. But soon he was enjoying marshalling his arguments, trying to convince her. When she admitted that he had a good point, he had felt a thrill of victory that he had never felt when talking to any other woman. He had always been intrigued by the challenge of trying to win her as his wife. But he knew now that even if he _did_ get her to marry him, he would never truly conquer her. She would refuse to obey him, she would disagree with him, she would no doubt aggravate him and drive him crazy…yet strangely, he felt exhilarated at the very thought of a lifetime with her.

With Belle, he truly had to _earn _every victory. She was a constant, never-ending challenge, and Gaston thrived on challenges. After being with her, how could he possibly be satisfied with a bland, dull, mindless doll of a girl who simply agreed automatically with everything he said? The very idea was suddenly unbearable.

And the reading…it was so strange. He had always _hated_ the sight of her walking around the village with her nose in a book, because when she was reading, she was shutting him out, ignoring him. She was so focused on her book that she never even noticed he was there. The only way he could get her attention was to grab the book right out of her hands.

But when she read to _him…_That had been completely different. Then it felt like she was drawing him into her world, sharing something intimate with him, something she shared with no one else. It was like they were the only two people in the world. And the stories were _good _- just as exciting as Gaston's own hunting stories, full of action and adventure. He missed those stories.

He missed _her._

She was different from all the other girls. She was _better _than all the other girls. He had to have her. No other girl would do.

He turned back to LeFou. "I do love Belle," he said firmly. "And I'm going to get her back."

LeFou nodded. "Good! So, you get her back, and then you make her stop doing all the annoying things you don't like. You can make her change."

Gaston frowned. "I don't _want _to make her change!" he said firmly.

"But you just said she argues with you!" LeFou protested, bewildered. "She doesn't obey you! She acts all wrong for a girl!"

Gaston cuffed him on the head. "Don't talk about Belle like that!" he snapped. "She's _perfect! _She's the best girl in the whole village!"

"Okay, sure!" LeFou said immediately without skipping a beat. "If you say she's the best, then she's the best! She's terrific!"

Gaston nodded. "She _is _terrific," he agreed. A determined look crossed his face. "That's why I have to get her back."

"Well, that's easy enough," LeFou said with a shrug. "Just go to her house and tell her you changed your mind and you do want her after all."

"No, that's the thing about Belle," Gaston said with a weary sigh. "With her, _nothing _is ever easy."

_And you still want her? _LeFou thought, but knew better than to say it. He couldn't understand why Gaston had his heart set on a stubborn, difficult girl when there were so many adoring ones around who wanted nothing more than to devote their lives to making him happy. But, it was his decision.

"We had a big fight," Gaston went on. "She's probably mad at me. That's the problem."

LeFou considered this. "You could tell her you're sorry."

Gaston stared at him in disbelief. "Tell her I'm _sorry?" _He glared at LeFou in outrage. "Gaston _never _apologizes!"

LeFou quickly held up his hands placatingly. "Okay, sorry! Of course you don't have to!" Gaston relaxed. LeFou went on, "It's just that usually if someone's mad, if you tell them you're sorry, they stop being mad." _Like you, right now_, he thought, but decided not to say it. "That's all I meant."

"Well, I don't do that," Gaston said firmly. He had his pride, after all.

"It'll be fine. Remember, she probably misses you too," LeFou pointed out encouragingly. "I'm sure she'll be _thrilled _to hear you want her back. You're Gaston, after all!"

"You're right! I am!" Gaston said, perking up. "Of _course_ she'll want me back!"

Suddenly he felt more cheerful than he had in days. By tomorrow night, he'd be back in Belle's house, sitting on the couch with his arm around her, as cozy as before. And he'd finally get to find out how that story ended. Everything was going to be fine.

He grinned at LeFou. "Come on, let's have another drink!" He poured a drink for each of them. Gaston raised his tankard. "To me and Belle!"

"Hear hear!" LeFou agreed, and they clinked tankards, toasting Gaston's inevitable success.


	6. What a Woman Wants

The next afternoon, Belle was reading when she heard a knock on the door. She went to the door and pulled down her father's viewfinder to see who the visitor was. On discovering it was Gaston, she made a face. She was tempted to pretend she wasn't home. _But then he'll just keep coming back_, she thought. _Better to get it over with._

She opened the door. "Hello, Belle," Gaston said, flashing her his most charming smile. "Can I come in?"

"Frankly, no," Belle said, starting to close the door. Gaston put his hand out and blocked it.

"Belle, come on. I _miss_ you," he said.

"My heart bleeds for you," Belle said dryly.

Gaston was getting frustrated. "Belle, I want to talk to you! Let me in!"

"Don't give me orders!" she snapped. "I don't _have _to do what you tell me. And I don't want to talk to you. So go away." She stepped forward, forcing him to take a step back. With the doorway now clear, she stepped back and moved to slam the door.

"Wait!" Gaston said quickly. This wasn't going well at _all._

Belle sighed in exasperation. "What?"

Gaston tried to think fast. Belle was waiting impatiently, but he had no idea what to say to get her to let him in.

Suddenly he remembered LeFou's advice. Desperate times called for desperate measures. He puffed his chest out as if about to make an important announcement. "Belle…" he intoned. "I have something very important to tell you." He paused a moment for suspense, then proclaimed dramatically, "I'm _sorry."_ He beamed, certain that those magic words would make her melt. After all, Gaston _never _said he was sorry. To say it to Belle was a tremendous sacrifice, a truly magnificent gesture. Surely _that _would impress her.

"You're sorry," Belle repeated skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

"Yep!" Gaston said proudly.

Belle folded her arms. "And what exactly, pray tell, are you sorry _for?"_

Gaston's smile faded. He looked uncertain. "Uh…" he floundered. He looked around helplessly, as if hoping to see the answer on a wall or a tree.

Belle shook her head, as if he was hopeless. "You really have _no _idea why I'm angry at you, do you?"

"Well…no," Gaston admitted sheepishly. Then he brightened. "So, why don't you tell me?"

Belle rolled her eyes. "Gaston, if you don't already _know _what you did wrong_…"_

"…then I can't make it better," he pointed out.

That stopped her. "Well, that _is_ true," she conceded.

"So can I come in?" Gaston asked hopefully.

Belle sighed. "Oh, all right," she said, giving in. She stepped back and allowed him to enter. "Five minutes. I tell you why I'm mad, then you leave."

Gaston sat down on the couch. To his disappointment, she didn't take her usual seat next to him; instead, she sat in the chair.

Still, she had let him in, and she was willing to talk to him – that was a good start. Surely they could clear up this little disagreement quickly.

"All right," Belle began. "Why I'm mad at you." Gaston looked at her expectantly. "First of all: you lied to me."

Gaston was startled. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did," Belle replied. "When you invited me to the dance. I told you I would only go with you if you understood clearly that we were just friends, nothing more. You said you accepted that. But secretly, you were _still _expecting to marry me, still plotting to make that happen."

Gaston shifted uncomfortably. "Come on, Belle, that's not fair," he protested. "I thought you were just playing hard to get. How was I supposed to know you really meant it?"

"Because I _said _it," Belle said firmly. "That's your problem, Gaston: everything is a _game_ to you, and you do whatever you have to in order to win. I don't play games. If I tell you something, I _mean_ it. And I'd like my feelings to be respected."

Gaston shrugged. "All right. I get it. So from now on, if you tell me something, I'll believe it. I can do that." He grinned triumphantly. "Problem solved!" _That was easy_, he thought.

Belle shook her head. "That's not the whole problem, Gaston."

"It's not?" He looked bewildered.

"No." She looked at him wearily. "Gaston, do you _really _want to go through all this? It's not necessary."

"Yes, it is," he insisted. "Tell me."

She sighed. "All right. If you insist." She took a deep breath. "Second reason: You hurt my feelings."

"What?" That one made no sense to him at all. "I asked you to _marry _me, Belle. That's a _compliment! _An honor, even."

"It's the way you did it." Belle wondered if it was even possible to make him understand. "You said you expect me to give up reading, and devote my whole life to serving _you _and doing housework."

"Right," Gaston agreed. He waited, but she didn't continue. Taking a stab at it, he asked, "And that's…bad?"

"My books are _important_ to me, Gaston! More important than anything else, except my father," Belle said. "Reading isn't just a way to pass the time for me. It's not just an activity; it's…it's who I AM, in a way. I _love_ reading. I could _never _give it up."

"It's _that _important to you?" Gaston asked in surprise.

"Yes," she said firmly. "It's like…" She thought for a moment. "How would you feel if someone told you that once you got married, you could never hunt again?"

Gaston laughed. "Why would anyone tell me that? Hunting is good. It puts food on the table."

Belle sighed. He was so _literal_. She cast about for a way to make the concept real to him.

"All right then," she said. "Picture this: you fall in love with a farmer's daughter. You want to marry her. But she's an only child, and her father is determined that the farm stay in the family. He'll _only_ give permission for you to marry her if you go to work on the farm. So you have to work on the farm from sunup to sundown, every single day…which means you would never have time to hunt again. _Ever. _How would you feel about that? Would you say, 'Oh, well, it doesn't matter. I don't need to hunt anyway, because the farm will put food on the table'?"

She could see the wheels turning in Gaston's head. Unconsciously, the muscles in his jaw clenched. "I wouldn't do it," he said belligerently. "No one's going to stop me from hunting!"

"Exactly. Why should you give up something you love to do, just to please someone else? That's how I feel about reading. I won't let _anyone_ take it away from me." She looked at him seriously, and a trace of sadness came into her eyes. "And someone who truly _cared_ about me wouldn't ask me to do something that would make me so unhappy. That's why it hurt me when you said I'd have to give up reading when I get married. I thought you were my _friend_, Gaston."

Gaston shifted guiltily. "I didn't _mean_ to hurt you. I thought you'd be _happy_ that I asked you to marry me. I didn't know you cared _that _much about books." He thought about it. "But what are you saying, Belle? You'll never get married because it might take time away from your reading?"

"No, of _course_ not," said Belle impatiently. "IF I meet someone special, and fall in love, and I truly feel in my heart that I want to spend the rest of my life with that person, then yes, I'd get married. But I'm not going to get married just for the sake of getting married."

"But if you do get married…how will that work?" Gaston persisted. "Are you going to be sitting there reading all day, with dishes piled high in the sink and the house a mess and children crying?"

Belle looked exasperated. "Gaston, look around. Is this house a mess?"

Gaston glanced around him. "Well, no," he admitted.

"Does my father get his dinner on time every night?"

"Yes," Gaston acknowledged.

"Well, there you go," Belle said. "I'm not completely irresponsible! If I get married, of course I'll do whatever needs to be done, just like I do now. But I will _always _find time to read – it's as necessary to me as food or the air I breathe. Maybe I'll get up early and spend an hour reading, before anyone else is awake. I know I'll read to my children, if I have any. And at night, after they're asleep, I'll read."

"What about your husband?" Gaston asked, raising an eyebrow. "Are you going to ignore him?"

"Well, I'm hoping to marry a man who loves reading as much as I do, so we can share it," Belle said honestly. She looked at him archly. "And what about _you?_ Are you going to spend your evenings devoting every second to your wife? Or are you going to go to the tavern with your friends after dinner and leave your wife at home?"

He looked away, embarrassed. She had a point there.

"So, yes, I _will _continue to read after I'm married," Belle concluded.

"But you'll still do the things you need to to take care of your family," Gaston reminded her. He reflected on that, then nodded. _I can live with that,_ he decided.

"Yes. But I want to do more than that, too," Belle said. "I want _more _out of life than just housework. I want adventure, excitement – I told you that before. Maybe do something where I can use my _mind._"

Hmmm…She wanted adventure…that might be something he could actually help with, he realized. He'd have to give it some thought.

"Okay," he said. "Got it. So, is that everything? No more problems?" His head was starting to hurt from the long, involved discussion.

"Just one, but it's the most important," Belle said seriously. "It's your whole _attitude_. I can't be with a man who gives me orders, or bullies me, or tries to force me to do things I don't want to do. I need to be free to make my ownchoices."

She looked at him sternly. "And that's notwhat _you_ want. You made that very obvious the other night. You just want a woman to be your slave and serve your every whim."

"That's not true!" Gaston protested.

Belle looked away. "Look, Gaston, why don't you just go back to the triplets, or one of the other girls? They'd all _love _to marry you and obey you and cater to you. You'd be happier, and it would make life easier on both of us."

"But that's the thing! I'm _not _happier with them!" Gaston complained. "I _did _go back to the triplets. I _thought_ I would like it…I mean, they tell me I'm wonderful and agree with me and do everything I say…but they're _boring, _Belle!" He looked at her earnestly. "I miss being with _you."_

Belle smiled, a quirky smile. "You decided that a woman who thinks isn't a bad thing after all?"

"Yes! That's exactly it," Gaston agreed. "Being with those girls…it's almost like being alone. They just repeat everything I say! You're so much better Belle. You say interesting things, and you tell good stories. Even when you fight with me…well…it's kind of fun," he added, a bit sheepishly.

Belle had to laugh despite herself. "Me screaming at you is _fun?_ You have a strange idea of fun, Gaston." But she was smiling.

Gaston smiled back, encouraged. "So, everything's fine now, right? You're not mad anymore?"

"No, I'm not mad," Belle admitted.

"Great!" said Gaston enthusiastically. "So it's all settled! We'll get married, but you can still read and think and all that other stuff. I can live with that."

_"No,_ Gaston!" Belle said in frustration. "We are _not _getting married! When will you learn that it's not all about what _you _want?"

Gaston frowned. _Now _what was the problem? "Look, Belle. You said you don't want to play games, right?"

"Right," Belle said. "I'm being honest with you."

"So BE honest!" Gaston said impatiently. "Just come out with it! What will it take?"

Belle was confused. "What will _what _take?"

"What will it take to get you to marry me?" Gaston persisted. "I always get what I want, and I'll do whatever I have to to get it. So…what do I have to do to get _you?_ Just _tell _me, Belle!"

Belle was exasperated. "It's not _like_ that, Gaston! Marriage isn't a negotiation!" Then her tone softened. "The simple fact is: I don't _love_ you. And I'll only get married if I _am _in love. I'm sorry, truly, but that's how it is."

"But Belle—" Gaston started to protest.

"_No," _Belle said firmly. "I told you: I won't be pressured or forced into anything. You _can't _always have what you want. Not this time. I'm not marrying you, Gaston."

Gaston looked at her. He understood now that she meant it – she wasn't being coy or playing hard to get. She truly didn't love him…_yet._ But that could change, he assured himself. Once they were spending lots of time together again, her feelings toward him might warm up. He wasn't discouraged.

Right now, though, it was clearly time to drop the subject of marriage. He didn't want to annoy her, just when she was starting to act friendly again.

"Okay, Belle," Gaston said, spreading his hands out in surrender. "You win. No more talk of marriage."

Belle breathed a sigh of relief. "Finally!"

Gaston grinned. "So…we'll just go back to how things were before," he said cheerfully. "We'll just be friends, like you wanted." He was already looking forward to finishing the "Hercules" book. And the dance was coming up…

Belle shook her head. "No, Gaston, I'm afraid not."

He scowled. "Why not? You said you're not mad anymore."

"No, I'm not mad," she said quietly.

"So what's the problem?" he persisted. "We had fun when we were together before, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did," she agreed. "It's just that…well…" She took a deep breath. "I don't feel that I can trust you anymore," she said honestly.

He was offended. "What do you mean?"

This was so awkward… "Gaston, I liked being your friend. I really did," Belle said. "But that was because I thought you could _accept_ being just friends, and no more. But now, after what's happened, I don't think you can. Even if you _say _we'll just be friends, I can't help thinking that it's a ploy, and that you'll always secretly be trying to manipulate me into marrying you. That's why I can't trust you."

Gaston looked uncomfortable. She knew him too well. "I can't help wanting what I want, Belle," he said defensively.

"I know," she said. "But I don't think its right for us to spend time together if you're always going to expect more than I can give you. You'd take it as a sign that I'm going to give in and marry you. It isn't fair to either of us. So…I think we just need to make a clean break." She took a deep breath. "I can't see you anymore, Gaston. At all."

Gaston was thunderstruck. He stared at her speechlessly for several seconds, looking as though she'd slapped him. "You don't like me, Belle?" he asked quietly, sounding wounded.

"It's not that," Belle said gently. "I do like you. But…I don't _want _you."

The hurt in his eyes made her cringe. She didn't want it to be like this, but she saw no other way. She had to be honest. But it was so hard, when he looked so forlorn and heartbroken. It was ironic, she thought: when he was being egotistical, supremely confident that he was the most desirable man alive, she found him anything BUT desirable. But when he occasionally showed this other side, unsure and vulnerable…well, _that _was when she found him almost impossible to resist.

But she had to, for both their sakes.


	7. Loss

Gaston left Belle's house almost in a daze. He couldn't believe what had just happened.

He had finally realized that he loved Belle…but he couldn't be with her.

It was mid-afternoon, and the village was teeming with people going about their daily business. Gaston had no wish to see anyone, the way he was feeling. He quickly went back to his house and paced his living room restlessly, his thoughts in a turmoil.

For the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do. He _always _got what he wanted – that was just how his life worked. In the past, when Belle had seemed less than interested in him, he had chalked it up to coyness, assuming that deep down she really wanted him, just like all the other girls.

But there was no mistaking the tone of her voice or the look in her eyes. She had been sympathetic, but absolutely firm. _You can't always get what you want, Gaston. Not this time._

She didn't want him.

It was a terrible feeling – loss and sadness and frustration and helplessness all rolled up in one. He'd never felt this way before. He didn't know how to deal with it.

Gradually, his pain transformed into rage. His expression darkened. His hands clenched into fists. This was all _her _fault! How dare she make him feel this way? _No one_ said no to Gaston! She would learn that. He _always _got what he wanted in the end, and he'd get her too, no matter what she said. There was always a way. She _would _be his wife. But how?

Then the idea came to him. He could threaten something she cared about. Her father! She had said that he was even more important to her than her books.

Gaston's mind raced swiftly, plotting and scheming. Most people in town thought Maurice was crazy. There was a lunatic asylum a few miles out of town. Gaston could plant a few rumors, then bribe the caretaker of the asylum to declare Maurice insane and lock him up, unless Belle married Gaston. Belle would do _anything _to protect her father. She would _have _to agree to marry him, if she had no other choice…

Something blue caught his eye through the window. He looked up. It was Belle. She was crossing the town square, probably on her way to the bookstore.

He moved closer to the window, his eyes drinking in the sight of her. Belle… She was walking slowly, her head down and shoulders bent, looking upset.

In that instant, his resolve crumbled into dust. He just couldn't do it. He loved her. As bad as she had made him feel…he didn't want to hurt her. Not really.

He imagined how she would look at him if he did threaten her father - the reproach and betrayal in her eyes. _I can't be with a man who gives me orders, or bullies me, or tries to force me to do things I don't want to do. _If he did this, she would hate him. He might force her to become his wife, but he would forever lose the Belle he _really _wanted: the Belle who had _liked _him, whose eyes lit up happily when he approached, who eagerly invited him into her house to read a new story.

She had said she couldn't trust him. If he went through with this scheme, he would prove that it was true. He really _couldn't_ be trusted, and she was right to reject him.

He turned away from the window. No. He didn't want to hurt Belle. And he didn't want her to despise him, either.

But what could he do? Just let her go, knowing he would never be with her again? _No._ Gaston set his jaw in determination. He wasn't the type to give up. There _had _to be a way to get her back. How could he make her like him again?

Then he stopped. _Wait a second._ She _did _like him – she had said so herself, even while telling him they couldn't see each other. Belle didn't lie, and she didn't play games, so it must be true. She had said she liked him, _and _that she'd liked being his friend. That was all good.

According to Belle, the _only _reason they couldn't be together was that she couldn't trust him anymore. _That _was the obstacle he had to overcome. If he could prove to her that she _could _trust him, she might change her mind.

He began to feel hopeful. There was a chance after all! He just had to figure out how to prove to her that he was trustworthy.

_She said she couldn't trust me because at first I agreed that we were just friends, but then I asked her to marry me, _he recalled. _And she doesn't want a man who pressures her into doing something she doesn't want to do. And…what else did she say? _He tried to remember. _Oh, right. She wants to make her own choices. And for me to respect her feelings._

Okay. Gaston rubbed his hands together. That was something he could work with. Belle had decided they shouldn't see each other. So…he would respect that. He would stay away from her completely. He wouldn't even come _near _her. He would prove to her that he _was _able to listen to her, and let her make her own choices, and respect her feelings, and _not _pressure her in any way, shape or form.

She probably expected him to start following her around and trying to convince her to change her mind. He would surprise her by _not_ doing that. Then she would see that she really _could _trust him. And since she had admitted that she'd liked being his friend, maybe she would start to miss him, once he wasn't around anymore. Then _she _would come to _him _asking to be friends again.

It was perfect. He would get her back, and it would all be her choice, just like she wanted.

Gaston let out a sigh of relief, feeling much better. The devastating void he had felt earlier was receding. This separation was only temporary. Once Belle realized he was really gone, she would miss him and come back to him.

_But what if she doesn't? _a tiny nagging voice said in his mind. He pushed it away. He couldn't think about that.

She _had_ to come back.

She had to.

O o o o o o o

"Belle?" The bookseller's welcoming smile changed to a look of concern when he saw her expression. "What's wrong?"

Belle sat down on a chair, looking miserable. "I feel awful."

"Why?" Monsieur Liseur sat down on a chair next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. "What's happened?"

Belle sighed. "It's Gaston."

Monsieur Liseur bristled at the name. "What did he do?" he said angrily.

Belle smiled. Monsieur Liseur was so protective of her. "Nothing, it's more what _I _did. I mean, I know it's the right thing to do, but…"

"Whatever you did, I'm sure it _was _the right thing," Monsieur Liseur said reassuringly. "But tell me why you're upset."

Belle filled her friend in on the events of the past few days. When she got to the argument about marriage, Monsieur Liseur was outraged. "So, he lied to you about his intentions, _and _expected you to be delighted to devote your entire life to serving _his _needs? The sheer gall of that man!" He shook his head in disgust. "But I can't honestly say I'm surprised, Belle. I did tellyou before that I wasn't thrilled with the idea of you getting involved with Gaston." He patted her hand. "So, you got rid of him, I presume? No reason for you to be upset about _that! _Good riddance, I say. Don't give it a second thought."

"Thank you, but there's more to the story," Belle said. "I _was _very angry with him, as you can imagine. But he came to my house today and apologized…well, _sort of _apologized," she amended, remembering with amusement Gaston's ostentatious "I'm sorry." "I explained to him how I felt, and he listened to me, and he did seem to understand – or _tried _to understand, anyway. And he told me he'd been spending time with the triplets, and realized now how silly and empty-headed they are, and that he now _likes _the fact that I can think for myself."

"Oh, Belle." Monsieur Liseur's voice was full of concern. "You didn't take him _back,_ did you? He's obviously just saying whatever he thinks you want to hear, just like he did before. He'll do and say _anything_ to get what he wants. You know that."

Belle thought about that. "I know he does, it's true…but I honestly don't think he was pretending this time. He wasn't his usual smug, blustering self. He asked me a lot of questions, like he was really trying to understand. And when he said he liked the fact that I have a mind of my own, he sounded almost confused, like even _he _was surprised to realize it." She smiled at the memory.

Then her smile faded. "But no – I'm _not_ taking him back," she went on. "I told him today that I can't see him anymore." The bookseller looked relieved to hear it. Belle continued, "I do like him, Monsieur Liseur, but he has his heart set on marrying me, and I don't want to lead him on. It's not fair to either of us. I don't want to feel pressured, and I don't want _him _to feel that there's hope for marriage when there isn't. I'd only end up eventually having to reject him _again, _which would hurt him even _more_ in the end, wouldn't it?" She looked almost pleadingly at the bookseller. "It's kinder this way, isn't it? A clean break?"

"Of course it is," Monsieur Liseur reassured her. "You did the right thing."

"So why do I feel so awful?" Belle said. She sighed. "He looked so sad when he left."

"You're a goodhearted girl, Belle," Monsieur Liseur said affectionately. "You can't bear to see anyone unhappy, that's all. But you have to think of yourself first. You're better off not getting tangled up with someone like him."

Belle smiled sadly. "To be honest, I feel a little sorry for myself, too. I actually did enjoy his company. I know it's hard to believe, but…there were times when I thought I saw another side of him. A nicer side. He can be sweet sometimes."

"I think that's only because you're lonely, Belle, as you said before," said Monsieur Liseur. "You were grateful to have company, that's all. If there was an educated, intelligent, literate young man around for you to spend time with, you wouldn't give Gaston a second thought."

"Well…maybe," Belle acknowledged doubtfully. "But it's a moot point, since there _isn't _anyone like that around here."

"That's true," said Monsieur Liseur. Then a look of realization crossed his face. "Unless…" He trailed off, lost in thought.

"What?" asked Belle curiously.

"Hmm? Oh, sorry, Belle!" Monsieur Liseur came out of his reverie. "I was just thinking of something I need to do."

Belle stood up immediately. "Oh, I won't keep you from your work, then. Thank you for listening – I really needed someone to talk to."

Monsieur Liseur walked her to the door. "I'm always here for you, Belle, you know that," he said. "And don't worry – you acted very wisely. As I've always told you, you shouldn't settle for less than you deserve. Let Gaston go find some other girl to marry. And as for you…well, I'm sure things will work out just fine."

"I hope so," Belle said. "Thanks again." She left the bookstore and headed slowly toward home. She was glad to have spoken to her friend. It was a relief to hear someone she trusted assure her that she had done the right thing.

And yet…somehow, it didn't make her feel any better.


	8. Then Somebody Bends

The days that followed were among the hardest Gaston had ever lived through. He was used to tackling problems head on and taking whatever he wanted. To stay away from the one thing he wanted most, to be completely passive and do absolutely _nothing _about his problem, went against all his instincts.

He told himself that he _wasn't _doing nothing – that his seeming inaction was really a cunning and clever plan that would eventually win Belle back, and that his ultimate victory was assured. But as the days passed, it didn't feel that way. It felt like he had lost the girl he loved, and he was never going to be with her again, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The only bright spot was that, aside from LeFou, none of the villagers knew about his defeat – _no, temporary setback_, he corrected himself quickly. The first time LeFou had seen Gaston after his talk with Belle, the little man had looked up expectantly, about to inquire how it had gone. But he'd stopped when he saw Gaston's expression, dark as a thundercloud. _"Don't ask," _Gaston had snapped, and LeFou had wisely refrained from ever mentioning Belle again.

But the other villagers didn't know the truth. All they knew was that Gaston had stormed into the tavern after the argument, ranting about how odd Belle's behavior was, and started flirting with the triplets, seemingly glad to be with them. They thought Gaston had rejected Belle, not the other way around, and were completely unaware that his feelings for Belle had changed and that he had tried and failed to win her back. Since then, Gaston had made a point of putting on a brave face, acting just as jovial as always, drinking and flirting and showing off. The last thing he needed was to be humiliated or pitied.

So his reputation was intact, if not his heart. But that was little comfort to him as the days passed and the aching void within him threatened to overwhelm him.

At times he was furious at himself for allowing himself to lose control of the situation. He was _Gaston!_ He was master of his fate! _He _always called the shots, getting whatever he wanted. How had he let a mere girl gain so much power over him? It was humiliating, even if no one knew about it. He simply couldn't let her control him like this. _He _was supposed to be in charge!

But then he would think of her, her sparkling eyes and gentle smile, and he knew he was doomed. He knew in his heart that he could only be happy if she came to him willingly, loved him of her own volition. But he had no way to make her do that. He could force people to _do _what he wanted, but not to _feel _what he wanted. When it came to Belle, he was helpless. He could only wait, and stay away from her, and hope fervently that she missed him as much as he missed her.

Walking through the village, his gloomy thoughts were interrupted by a voice calling his name.

"Hello, Gaston!"

Gaston turned to see Maurice. "Oh, hello, Maurice. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you! I wanted to tell you that I've almost finished my current invention, a woodcutter. And then, I'm going to get started working on that idea for the Hunter's Helper. I already have a lot of ideas for it!"

"Oh, good. That'll be helpful," Gaston said with a smile. He used to think Maurice was crazy, but the little old man's good-natured enthusiasm had grown on Gaston.

Suddenly, Gaston realized this was his perfect opportunity to find out how Belle was reacting to his absence. He had been apart from her for a week, and he was hungry for news of her. Did she miss him at all?

As casually as he could, he asked, "So…how's Belle?"

"She's fine," Maurice said. "But she's been very quiet lately." He hesitated, then asked, "What exactly happened between you two, anyway?"

Gaston shrugged. "I don't know exactly," he admitted honestly. "She just doesn't want to see me anymore."

"Well, she definitely has a mind of her own, it's true," Maurice said. "Takes after her mother that way." He sighed. "I was sorry when you stopped coming around. Belle seemed a lot happier when you were there. And I've always thought you were a nice fellow."

Gaston felt a pang of guilt, remembering that he had briefly considered having Maurice locked up to force Belle to marry him. The old man wouldn't think he was such a "nice fellow" if he knew the truth. He looked away, unable to meet Maurice's sympathetic eyes. "Thanks," he said, feeling ashamed.

Maurice watched him closely. There was an aura of sadness around the mighty hunter that Maurice recognized only too well. His daughter's face had had the same look of quiet loneliness for the past week. "Do you want me to talk to her for you?" Maurice offered. "I don't know if it would help, but I could try."

Gaston considered. He was tempted. Maurice could be an ally. But then he realized the idea was doomed to backfire. If Maurice told Belle that Gaston had asked him to talk to her, she would think Gaston was being pushy again, trying to find ways to convince her. His only chance was to leave Belle alone completely, and just hope she came around on her own.

"No, thanks, Maurice," he said. "It's her decision, and I have to respect her feelings."

"All right," Maurice said. "Whatever you say."

"But…you said doesn't seem happy?" Gaston asked hopefully. "Do you think she might change her mind?"

Maurice thought about it. "It's hard to say," he said truthfully. "One thing about Belle: she'll always do what she believes is right, whether it makes her happy or not. So…I honestly don't know." He looked at Gaston sympathetically. "Well, it was nice talking to you, Gaston. You take care now."

"You too," Gaston said, watching him go.

O o o o o o o o

Belle closed the book she had been reading, unable to concentrate. It had been an unwise choice on her part: _Jason and the Argonauts. _Normally she would have loved such an exciting tale of adventure, but now, when she read that kind of book, all she could think of was how much Gaston would have liked it.

If only she could get him out of her mind! It had been so much easier right after their argument, when she was angry at him. Then, she could tell herself that he was nothing more than an egocentric brute who saw her as a mere object, and she was lucky to be rid of him. But since their last conversation, when he had tried to talk things over with her, it was so much harder. She wasn't angry at him anymore. It was her head that told her to keep him away, not her heart.

She tried to be glad he was gone, to remember all the times he had infuriated her by being narrow-minded and arrogant. But instead, what kept creeping unbidden into her mind were the _other_ times: the way he looked when she read to him, caught up in the story just as she was. The time he had struggled to read a page of a book, even though he hated it, just to make her happy. Their debate over hunting, which had been stimulating, even fun. She had had a good time in his company, and had looked forward to his visits each evening. He had brightened up her life in the dull provincial town.

She remembered the day he had started bragging about his latest hunt, but then realized she was bored and struggled to talk about _her _interests instead. She reminded herself sternly that he shouldn't _have _to struggle. A normalperson would simply _know_ the right way to behave, the polite give-and-take of conversation. But…he had _tried. _That was what her mind kept coming back to. Just like in their last conversation: he had been so maddeningly thickheaded that he had had no idea why she was angry at him…but he had _listened _to her, and genuinely tried to understand how she felt, which was something she never would have thought Gaston capable of.

She sighed. She knew intellectually that Mssr. Liseur was right. Gaston was all wrong for her. He wasn't her Prince Charming, an intelligent, kind, thoughtful man with a passion for books and adventure that matched her own, the man of her dreams. Gaston was smug and egotistical and selfish, impatient and quick-tempered, a braggart and a bully. And yet, there were times when she saw a glimmer of something else in him, a hint of potential, as though there were a nicer person inside just waiting for a chance to come out. When he let his guard down and stopped focusing on himself, he could be caring, even sweet. She kept seeing the hurt in his eyes when she had told him she couldn't see him again.

_But what difference does it make? _she told herself logically. _Even if I DO become friends with him again…what good can possibly come of it? We'd spend time together, I'd enjoy his friendship, but he would think it meant there was hope for a future. Eventually, he'd propose again, and I'd have to break his heart. AGAIN. It's not right. I may not want to marry him, but I don't want to hurt him either. _

This was for the best, she told herself sternly. It had to be this way. It would save them both a lot of pain in the long run. It was the right decision.

If only she didn't miss him so much.

O o o o o o o

During dinner, Belle was quiet, lost in her own thoughts, which was typical of her behavior over the past few days. Maurice tried to engage her in small talk, talking about his progress on his invention, and an anecdote about trying to find just the right kind of screwdriver he needed at the village tool shop. She nodded, but it was obvious that she was only half-listening.

Maurice paused a moment, watching her. "I ran into Gaston today," he said suddenly.

Belle looked up sharply. "You did? How…how is he doing?" After her last talk with him, she had half-expected Gaston to keep pursuing her, trying to talk her into changing her mind – his usual style. But he had stayed away. She had been relieved not to be harassed, but she also wondered how he was faring. On one occasion, she had seen him across the village square, surrounded by his usual group of admirers. He had looked up, and their eyes had met, but he had quickly looked away and started talking to one of the girls next to him.

"He looks about the same as you do," Maurice said pointedly. "Sad and lonely. He misses you."

Belle felt guilty – then had a moment of suspicion. "Did he tell you to say that?" It _could _be one of Gaston's manipulative tricks, after all.

Maurice shook his head. "I offered to talk to you for him, actually, but he said no. He said it was your decision and he had to respect it."

Belle slumped back in her chair. _Great._ In a way, she had almost _hoped _for a reason to be annoyed with Gaston.

"What exactly happened with you two, Belle?" Maurice asked. "Why doesn't he come around anymore?"

"He asked me to marry him, Papa," Belle explained. "I turned him down."

"Oh, I see," Maurice asked. "And he was angry?"

"No," Belle said. "Well, not exactly. We did have an argument, and we were _both _angry, but that's over now. It's not that. I just feel that it's not fair to him to be just friends, when I know he wants more. If we keep spending time together, it will only give him false hope that I'll eventually change my mind and be his wife. Then he'll propose, and I'll have to reject him again, and he'll be even _more _hurt. That's why I really think this is the most sensible decision. This way he can get over me, and move on and find another girl. And I won't feel pressured about marrying him."

Maurice nodded. "Yes. It does sound very sensible, when you put it like that," he acknowledged. Belle smiled, relieved. Maurice went on, "But is it what you _want?"_

Belle stopped smiling. She didn't answer.

"One thing I've learned from my inventing: sometimes what looks perfectly good and logical on paper doesn't work out when you actually try to _do _it," Maurice said. He patted her shoulder. "Belle, you know how much I love you. All I want is for you to be happy. Whatever you decide to do is fine with me. It's just that…well, I've been watching you all week, missing Gaston and looking so sad. Then today I see _him,_ and he's missing _you _and looking sad. And I just can't help thinking: if you're unhappy, and he's unhappy...how is this the best decision?"

Belle sighed. "Oh, Papa. It's just…it's complicated, that's all."

"I can see that," Maurice said. "It's a funny thing – some say my inventions are too complicated to understand, but I think people's feelings are a lot _more_ confusing and hard to figure out sometimes." He got up and stretched. "Well, I'm going to bed." He kissed the top of her head. "Good night, Belle."

"Good night, Papa," Belle said. She sat awake for a long time, watching the candle flame and thinking.

O o o o o o

The next day was bright and sunny. Belle had a long list of errands to run, and got an early start. By 2:00 p.m., she had finally finished. She decided to get a new book from the bookstore and spend the rest of the day reading by the lake.

As she walked toward the bookstore, she was already rummaging through the day's purchases in her basket to find the book she needed to return. Not looking where she was going, she suddenly collided with something solid. "Oof!" she said, staggering back.

She looked up to see Gaston, looking as surprised as she felt. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, flustered, smoothing her hair back. "Sorry about that. I should have been paying closer attention to where I was going."

"That's all right," he said.

An uncomfortable silence followed. "So…how have you been?" Belle finally asked.

"Fine," Gaston said. "You?"

"Fine," Belle replied. She couldn't think of anything to say next. The silence became distinctly awkward. "Well…" said Belle. "I should be getting home now. It was nice to see you again." She started to turn away.

"Wait!" Gaston said suddenly.

Belle turned around. "Yes?"

Gaston hesitated. "Belle…can I ask you something?"

Belle tensed slightly. She hoped he wasn't going to start in about marriage again. "What is it?"

"Can you tell me how that story ended?" Gaston asked.

Belle was puzzled. Whatever she had expected, it wasn't that. "What story?"

"The Hercules story," Gaston explained. "Hercules was about to go down to the Underworld to get the three-headed dog. But...I never got to find out what happened."

Belle looked at him, and her heart melted a little. He was waiting, his blue eyes earnest, hoping for the answer. She imagined how she would feel if someone snatched her book away just at the most exciting part.

"Well…" she began. "First, Hercules had to get across the river Styx that led to the Underworld. The riverman, Charon, ferried him across. Then, he had to battle a lot of monsters in the tunnels leading down. One of them challenged him to a wrestling match, and even broke his ribs! Finally Hercules faced Hades, the god of the Underworld, and asked permission to take Cerberus. Hades said he could, but only if he could conquer Cerberus _without_ using any weapons."

"What did he do?" Gaston asked eagerly. Involved in the story, he had forgotten his discomfort at seeing Belle.

Belle smiled at his enthusiasm. She had missed this. "Well, luckily Hercules was still wearing his lion skin – the one so tough that nothing could penetrate it. So when he found Cerberus, he grabbed all three of the dog's heads in his arms and wrestled the dog into submission. Cerberus also had a dragon for a tail, and the dragon tried to bite Hercules, but couldn't harm him because the lion skin protected him. Hercules dragged Cerberus all the way back to King Eurystheus. He told Eurystheus, 'Here's Cerberus, just as you asked!' Then, he acted as though he was just going to walk away. King Eurystheus was terrified – Cerberus was roaring and snapping his fangs, lunging forward to attack. The king begged Hercules to take Cerberus back to the Underworld. Of course, Hercules did."

Gaston laughed. "I guess Hercules just wanted to give him a scare for making him do all those hard things!"

"Yes," said Belle, smiling.

The story over, they stood in silence. "Well…I probably should be going," Gaston said, a bit wistfully. His gaze lingered on her one more moment; then he turned and started to walk away.

"Gaston, wait," Belle said impulsively. He turned and looked at her, surprised.

Belle hesitated. _I know I'll probably regret this, but… _Gaston was waiting to hear what she wanted. Belle took a deep breath. "Gaston. Look. If I say that we can be friends again, can you honestly accept that I really do mean _just _friends?"

Gaston brightened as though she'd given him a present. "Of course, Belle!"

Belle held up her hand. "Don't answer so fast," she said seriously, looking earnestly into his eyes. "You have to _mean_ it this time. No games, no trying to manipulate me, no expecting me to marry you. I do want to be your friend again, but as I told you before, I _don't _want to lead you on. You have to be very clear about this."

Gaston looked down at her, waiting for his answer. She would not accept a lie, he knew.

He reflected on her words. _She says I can't EXPECT her to marry me, _he thought. _But…she didn't say I'm not allowed to HOPE she might change her mind._ He knew she was serious – she really didn't want to marry him – but it was humanly impossible for him not to _hope._ He couldn't control his emotions. And after all, there was always a chanceher feelings about him could change in time.

But Belle hadn't mentioned "hope." She had simply said he shouldn't _expect _anything, and he shouldn't do anything to pressure her. It wouldn't be lying to agree with her conditions, he decided.

He nodded. "I can do that, Belle."

"Great!" she said, sounding relieved. "I'm glad, Gaston." She smiled. "So…do you want to come to my house and hear the full version of that story? I gave you the summary, but it really is better the way the book tells it."

"I'd love to," Gaston said, grinning back at her. Despite their "very clear" agreement, he couldn't help feeling a stirring of optimism. Maybe, just _maybe,_ Belle would warm up to him in time. Now that they were going to be spending time together again, she _might _grow to love him eventually. It was always possible. He clung to that hope. It was his nature; as long as there was the slightest chance, he couldn't give up.

But he wasn't going to do anything to pressure her. That much was certain. As they walked side by side toward her house, Gaston made sure to leave a little space between them, and he most definitely did _not _try to put his arm around her. He was _not _going to screw it up this time,he vowed to himself. He wouldn't mention the word marriage, he wouldn't try to kiss her, he wouldn't even _touch _her. _Just friends, _he told himself firmly.

He was glad that Belle had given him another chance. But he also knew that that chance hung by a thread. One wrong word, one wrong move, the slightest _hint _that he still desired her and wanted to marry her, and it would all be over. Belle would be gone in a flash, the friendship destroyed. And this time, there would be no second chances. Gaston wasn't going to let that happen. He was going to be on his absolute best behavior at all times. If anything romantic _was _going to happen between them, _she _would have to be the one to initiate it.

"What are you thinking about?" Belle asked curiously, noticing his determined expression.

He smiled at her. "Just that I'm glad you changed your mind."

She smiled back. "I'm glad too." She continued walking next to him, feeling happier than she had in days.


	9. Into the Woods

_This chapter is dedicated to Carrie (Beautygirl), who unleashed the phrase "shirtless and glistening" (aka SAG) on the world. :)_

_Special thanks to the amazingly talented artist LathronAniron, who did a wonderful picture to illustrate this chapter. It can be found out w w w dot deviantart dot com slash deviation slash 24719800 (but with no spaces, real dots instead of the word "dot," and real slashes instead of the word "slash." Sorry to be confusing, but Fanfiction dot net automatically deletes anything that looks like a web address!)_

The next day, LeFou saw Gaston and Belle strolling around the village. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Hello, LeFou," Belle said in a friendly way, noticing him.

"Hi. So…you two are back together now?" LeFou asked cautiously. Gaston's relationship with Belle was hard to keep up with.

Gaston glanced at Belle. "Oh, no!" he said, very casually. "We're just friends. Nothing else."

LeFou was skeptical. He remembered Gaston telling him that Belle was the best girl in the village and that he _had _to have her as his wife. For him to now claim that they were merely friends, as though he was perfectly happy with that, didn't ring true. LeFou decided it must just be part of Gaston's newest brilliant scheme to win Belle. But he knew better than to comment.

"Boy, it's really warm out today, isn't it?" Belle commented to Gaston. "I'm getting a little thirsty."

"No problem," Gaston said. "LeFou!" he ordered. "Get Belle some water!"

"You got it!" LeFou replied, racing off. He came back a few minutes later with a cup of water. Gaston took it and shook his head in annoyance. "This is warm!" he complained irritably. "Go to the icehouse behind the general store and put some ice in it."

"Oh, sorry!" LeFou said contritely. "I'll go right now." He grabbed the cup back and ran off.

Belle frowned. "Why do you do that?" she said to Gaston.

"I know, he messes up a lot," Gaston said apologetically. "But it's okay, he'll get it right this time."

Belle shook her head. "That's not what I meant! Why are you so rude to him?"

Gaston was surprised. "What are you talking about?"

Belle stared at him. "What am I _talking_ about? You're always ordering him around."

Gaston shrugged. "He _likes _doing things for me," he said dismissively. "He's always been like that, since we were kids. What's the big deal?"

"But you never thank him, you yell at him if he makes a mistake…you even hit him sometimes," Belle pointed out. "Didn't your parents ever teach you about manners, and being considerate of others?"

Gaston thought back to his childhood. "No," he said honestly. "It never came up."

Belle was astonished. It seemed like the most basic thing a parent should teach a child. "Well, what _did _they teach you, then? How did they tell you to act?"

Gaston shrugged. "My father just told me to be strong and tough and always be the best. He said to make sure everyone respected me, and never to take any backtalk from anyone. And never be weak, or appear weak. Mmm, what else…To always demand the best, because I deserve the best. Oh, and to _always_ win. That was the most important one."

Belle was appalled. She was glad she had never met Gaston's father. He didn't sound like someone she would like. "Well, what about your mother, then?"

Gaston smiled reminiscently. "Oh, she just told me all the time how much she loved me, and that I was the most wonderful boy in the world. She did everything for me and gave me anything I wanted. She told me to marry a girl who was as devoted to me as she was – someone who'd do anything to make me happy."

"Well, _that _explains a lot," Belle muttered under her breath.

"What?" Gaston asked.

"Nothing," Belle said. "Look, Gaston. _You_ obviously enjoy being treated well. How would you feel if people treated you the way you treat LeFou?"

"But no one _would," _Gaston said in confusion.

Belle sighed. She knew it was almost impossible for him to relate to a situation he'd never been in himself. "Gaston," she said patiently. "I know you've never been little and weak. But hasn't anyone _ever _hurt you or made you feel bad in some way? Even once, in your entire life?"

Gaston tried to think. He _had _been hurt once, he remembered - when Belle had told him he couldn't see her anymore. He'd been crushed. "Just once," he said, hoping she wouldn't ask who'd done it.

"All right," she said. "It felt bad, didn't it?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"I'm sure you didn't like feeling that way. So why would you want to make other people feel bad?" Belle pointed out. "Honestly, Gaston, it takes solittle effort to make people feel good. Just one kind word or gesture, and they're happy. So why not do that instead? It doesn't cost you anything. Besides, you said that you want respect. But the fact is, people will respect you _more_, and _like_ you more, if you're nice to them. Look at LeFou - he _idolizes_ you. He tries so hard to make you happy. I bet it would mean a lot to him if you showed some appreciation."

Privately, Gaston didn't think LeFou cared one way or another. Belle was making a huge fuss over nothing. What was the big deal about "please" and "thank you"? He'd known LeFou since childhood, and the friendship had always revolved around Gaston – that was just how it was. LeFou was always happy to do whatever Gaston asked, no matter how Gaston phrased it. And he never complained, no matter what Gaston said or did. So obviously _he _didn't have any problem with the way Gaston spoke to him. It was typical of Belle, with all her thinking and analyzing, to see a problem when there was none.

But Gaston did want to make Belle happy and do things that would impress her. _Oh, all right, _he thought with a long-suffering sigh. If it was _that _important to her, he'd say "thank you." He still thought it was pointless, but he'd humor her. The things he put up with for this girl!

At that moment, LeFou showed up, panting a little, with the iced water. "Here, Belle," he said, handing it to her.

"Thank you," Belle said. She looked meaningfully at Gaston.

Gaston glanced at her and cleared his throat. "Thank you for getting the water, LeFou," he said awkwardly, feeling a bit foolish. "It was, uh…very nice of you. I really appreciate it."

LeFou was stunned speechless. Then slowly, he broke into a big smile. "Oh, you're welcome!" he said happily. "Any time, you know that!"

Gaston was taken aback. LeFou was positively beaming, as though Gaston had given him a present. Did a couple of words really make _that _much difference? Gaston wondered. He was suddenly curious to see what would happen if he tried it on other people.

"Do you need anything else?" LeFou asked enthusiastically. He seemed even more eager to help than usual, if that were possible.

"Not right now," Gaston said.

"Okay. I'll see you later then!" LeFou went off, looking cheerful.

Belle turned to Gaston. "See that? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"I guess not," Gaston admitted grudgingly. "He did seem pretty happy."

"I told you," Belle said, smiling.

Gaston looked at her, a bit irked. He hated admitting he was wrong. "You know, Belle…for someone who doesn't like being ordered around, you sure don't have a problem telling _me_ what to do," he pointed out.

Belle paused, surprised. "Did I sound bossy? I didn't mean to," she said. "But when something is important to me, Gaston, I have to speak up."

"It's just that…everyone _else_ tells me I'm perfect. But with you, it's like I can't do anything right," Gaston said, a little disgruntled.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to make you feel bad," Belle said sincerely. "I just think…" She tried to come up with an approach he'd respond to. "I think you could be even _better. _You're already the strongest man in town, and the handsomest, and the best hunter. Why not try to be the _nicest_ man in town too? _There's_ a good goal to work toward." She smiled encouragingly.

He laughed out loud. "Now _you're _the one being…oh, what's that word? Starts with an M. You complained about me doing it, when I tried to get you to marry me."

Belle thought. "Manipulative?"

"That's the one." Gaston nodded. "You're trying to trick me into acting different."

"Well, maybe a little," Belle confessed with a sheepish smile."But I do think you could stand to be a little nicer to people."

Her admission restored his good mood. At least she'd acknowledged that _she_ wasn't always perfect. "All right, fair enough," Gaston said. "LeFou _is_ a good guy; I should probably go easier on him." He stretched. "Come on, I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat."

"Good idea," agreed Belle.

As they passed the town hall, Gaston saw people inside, busily cleaning and decorating it for the upcoming dance. He stopped.

"What's the matter?" Belle asked.

Gaston turned to her. He hadn't been sure when to bring this up, but now seemed as good a time as any. "Belle…now that we're friends again, I have to ask you something."

"What?" she asked.

He hesitated. "Well…the dance is next Saturday," he pointed out. "Are you going to go with me?"

Belle was taken aback. "Oh…I thought you must have asked another girl by now."

"No. I didn't," he admitted. "So? Will you go with me?"

"Well, I-I don't know," she said, flustered. "It's just…it's such a romantic type of evening, Gaston. After everything that's happened…"

"Belle," Gaston said firmly. "You made it clear that we're just friends, and I agreed. I'm not playing games here. I just want you to have a good time, that's all."

"It won't make you feel bad, though?" she asked, looking up at him earnestly. "I told you before: I don't want to lead you on."

"I know," he said. "It's fine. To tell you the truth, Belle, you'd really be doing me a favor."

"What do you mean?" Belle asked, puzzled. "You don't need me; you could get any girl in the village to go with you."

"Of _course_ I could," Gaston said dismissively. "They'd all give their right arm to go with me! But if I ask another girl to the dance, she's going to get all excited and start swooning and thinking I have feelings for her, and wanting me to marry her. If I go with you, it's easier. We can just have a good time and enjoy ourselves. No pressure."

"Well, if you put it that way…" Belle said.

Gaston grinned. "Trust me, it'll be fun. You could use some fun, Belle. I know you love your books, but it's good to get out and do things in the real world, too."

"That's true," she conceded.

"So, will you go with me?"

She smiled. "All right. I do still have my dress."

"Good," he said, pleased. "That's settled then."

They headed back to Belle's house for a snack. Then she read him "Seven at One Blow," and just as she'd known, he loved it, laughing at the boastful tailor's ever-growing reputation.

"That was a good one, Belle," Gaston said. "If they'd had stories like that in school, I wouldn't have hated it so much.

"What _did _you read in school?" Belle asked.

"Oh, just these primers with lessons in them. Rules and things. It was so boring."

"That's a shame." Belle said. "There are so many wonderful stories out there – why teach children to read with something boring? It makes no sense." She shook her head. "Anyway, it's still early – should we start the Achilles book?"

"Why not?" He leaned back on the couch, relaxing. He was just glad to be back here again, sitting next to her and listening to her voice.

Belle opened the book. "When Achilles was a baby, his mother, Thetis, held him by the heel and dipped him in the River Styx," she read. "Anything that touched the waters of the Styx became invulnerable…including the newborn baby."

"Oh, so now he's strong, just like Hercules," Gaston said. "Now he can be a hero."

Belle laughed, looking up from the book. "You make it sound so easy! Is that all it takes to be a hero? Being strong?"

"Pretty much, isn't it?" Gaston said. "Being strong, and doing things no one else can do."

Belle reflected on this. "Well, that's one way of looking at it. I don't see it like that, though. To me, a hero is someone who tries to help people, and protects those weaker than himself."

"What about being strong, though?" Gaston persisted. "All the heroes in your books are strong – Hercules, Achilles…"

"Well, yes, most of them are," Belle conceded. "But I think what's more important is what they _do _with their strength. If someone's strong, but just uses it to push people around and take what he wants, that's not being heroic – that's just being a bully. I mean, sure, it's nice to be powerful, but with power comes responsibility. At least, that's how I see it," she amended. "I mean, look at Hercules: He was strong, but he didn't go around just beating people up. He used his power to fight evil monsters that were killing people and terrorizing villages."

She was silent a moment, thinking. "In fact, I'm not sure you even _have _to be strong to be a hero."

Gaston laughed. "How can you be a hero if you're not strong? You can't _do _anything!"

"Well…like David and Goliath," Belle pointed out. "Do you know that story?"

He frowned, trying to dredge the memory up from some long-ago childhood church service. "Yes…" he said slowly. "The boy who killed the giant with a rock."

"Right," Belle said. "David wasn't strong, but he's still the hero of the story."

"Right. Because he won," Gaston said.

Belle frowned. "No, not because he _won," _she disagreed. "It's because he was brave and fought against evil. His people were going to be enslaved. The only way to stop it was for someone to fight Goliath the giant. But no one was willing to do it - they were too scared. David was little and weak, but he couldn't just stand by and let his people become slaves. He had to _do _something. So he stood up to Goliath, and he used his sling to shoot a rock at him, and he won. He risked his life to save his people.

"To me, _that's_ a true hero: someone who's selfless, who's willing to give up his life or his freedom or whatever he loves most to save others. Someone who does what's right - even when the right thing to do is hard, and it would be so much easier to just turn away."

Gaston considered. "Well, maybe," he conceded. "But I still say it helps to be strong!" He flexed his muscles proudly to emphasize the point.

Belle laughed. "Well, it does help, I'll give you that." She picked up the book again. "Anyway, speaking of strong heroes, let's get back to Achilles."

"Sure." Gaston leaned back with his hands behind his head, ready to listen.

They read until dinner time. Dinner was pleasant; over the past few days, Maurice had made no effort to hide his delighted reaction to seeing Gaston back and his daughter looking happier. After dinner, Belle walked Gaston to the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Belle," Gaston said. "Oh, and remember, on Thursday I'm taking you into the forest."

"How could I forget?" Belle said. "I can't wait."

"Great!" Gaston said. "Good night, Belle."

"Good night, Gaston." He headed out, and she closed the door.

O o o o o o o

On Thursday morning, Belle heard a whinny from outside. She came out to see Gaston astride his big black stallion, Tristan. "Ready for an adventure?" he asked with a grin, jumping off and coming toward her.

Belle smiled. "One minute. I'll go saddle up Philippe."

Gaston laughed. "That old draft horse? No offense, Belle, but he's not going to be able to keep up with Tristan. You ride with me."

Belle looked at him a bit suspiciously. What did he have in mind?

Gaston saw her expression, and his grin faded. "It's all right, Belle. I told you before, I don't bite."

"I know," she said quickly, hoping she hadn't hurt his feelings. "I was just wondering if two people would be too heavy for the poor horse."

"Oh, that." Gaston shrugged. "He's the strongest horse around, and you hardly weigh anything. It's nothing to him."

"Well…all right," Belle said. "I made some sandwiches for us. I'll go get them." She went back in the house and came out with a picnic basket.

Gaston said, "That was a good idea. But that basket's going to be too awkward. Here." He took the food out and transferred it to his horse's saddlebags. "All right, let's go!" Without warning, he hoisted Belle up to the horse's back.

"You don't waste any time!" Belle said in surprise, shifting to get her balance.

"Never," Gaston agreed with a grin. He put his foot in the stirrup and swung himself up, landing behind Belle. He clicked his tongue, and the horse started off.

It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the cool fall breeze felt good against Belle's face. As they entered the woods, she felt a thrill of anticipation. She had never been there before.

She leaned back to look up and admire the glorious autumnal colors of the trees…and startled as her back touched Gaston's solid, massive chest right behind her. Quickly she shifted forward an inch. She was suddenly very aware of his muscular arms on either side of her, holding the reins loosely. It was strange…she didn't usually think about how attractive Gaston was. But now, she found herself acutely conscious of…well, of the sheer _maleness _of him, his powerful presence and magnetism, the faint, musky scent of leather and sweat and gunpowder. It stirred something in her, made her stomach feel fluttery.

Gaston came to the path he was looking for. "All right," he said to Belle. "Hold on tight!"

"Why?" asked Belle in surprise.

Without warning, Gaston spurred the horse faster. Tristan broke into a canter, then a full gallop, gaining speed rapidly.

"Gaston!" Belle said anxiously. "We're going too fast!"

He put one arm around her, holding her securely. She heard his deep, rich voice close to her ear. "Don't worry; I know what I'm doing. You wanted an adventure, didn't you?"

Reassured, Belle began to enjoy herself. It _was _exciting, she had to admit. The wind whipped her hair, the trees rushed by at breakneck speed, the horse's hooves thundered against the hard ground. And Gaston's arm was around her, as solid and strong as a tree trunk. She couldn't have fallen off if she wanted to.

Then Belle gasped. Up ahead was a yawning ravine, easily 13 feet across. "Gaston…?" said Belle worriedly.

He grinned. "This is the best part!" he said. "Don't you dare close your eyes!" He urged the horse onward.

With a burst of speed, the horse thundered toward the ravine, then leaped. Belle gripped the horse's mane tightly as they sailed over it. For a moment, they were suspended in air, the ground impossibly far below them. Belle felt as though she were flying. Then the horse's hooves landed on the far side. Gaston gradually slowed the horse to a canter, then a trot, then a walk, and then stopped.

"How'd you like that?" Gaston asked.

She turned in the saddle to look at him. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were shining. "That was _incredible!"_

Gaston grinned, enjoying her pleasure. "Tristan and I jump that gorge all the time." He dismounted and helped her off the horse. "You're pretty brave for a girl!" he told her admiringly. He tried to imagine the other village girls riding with him like this. They'd be shrieking and squealing as soon as the horse started going fast, and when he jumped, they'd probably flail around in a panic and fall right off.

In fact, the other girls wouldn't even want to go _into _the forest. They'd say it was too spooky and scary, or they might get stung by a bee, or get their pretty shoes and dress muddy. Belle didn't care, though. She really _wasn't _like the other girls at all. But he liked that.

He watched her exploring the clearing, reaching up to touch a bird's nest. Her hair was tangled from the wild ride, and her dress was wrinkled, with bits of leaves and brambles stuck to it. He thought she looked utterly adorable. He wanted so much to take her in his arms, press his lips to hers…

She turned to him suddenly, and he stepped back guiltily, as though she might read his thoughts. But she only asked, "Gaston, can you show me how you track the animals? I've always wondered how you know where to find them."

"Of course," Gaston replied, grateful for the distraction. "I have to warn you, though: I can't guarantee that we'll find much today. You know we had drought a recently - there wasn't any rain for two months. It had a big effect on the forest. You can see how little grass there is, and not nearly as many plants as usual. The trees are all right – they're strong enough to withstand it. But it means that there's not enough food for the deer to forage, so there are fewer of them around this season."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Belle said.

Gaston shrugged. "Fact of nature, I'm afraid. The farmers had a tough time this year too. But, we'll see what we can do about finding some animals for you to look at," he added, smiling. "I wouldn't be much of a hunter if I can't track down at least one deer!"

He led her through the woods. Occasionally he took out his knife and made a quick notch on a tree. "That's to keep track of where we're going," he explained. He walked slowly, his eyes sweeping over the ground. "Ah." He bent down and picked something up. "See this?" He held out his hand, which contained several small hard round pellets. "That's scat."

Belle took one of the pellets and looked at it. "Scat?"

Gaston grinned. "Animal droppings."

"Ewww!" Belle dropped the pellet and wiped her hand on her skirt.

Gaston laughed. "It's an important clue if you're a hunter. Each animal's scat is different. These are small and round – they came from a rabbit."

They walked on. Belle was fascinated as Gaston pointed out the subtle signs of wildlife. She saw a rabbit and a raccoon along the way, as well as a few birds.

Near a small pond, Gaston stopped and pointed to a tree. Some of the bark had been scraped off. "Now, there - a deer was rubbing against that tree."

"Why?" asked Belle.

"Well, when they're born, they have little nubby antlers covered with soft stuff called velvet," Gaston explained. "By the fall, the antlers are grown, and the buck rubs them against a tree to get the velvet off." He pointed at the soft ground around the tree. "And see there? Those are his tracks. They look fresh, too – he may still be around."

He led Belle to a secluded area. "Now, we keep still and quiet and wait a while," Gaston said. "Maybe we'll see a deer yet."

Soon, they were rewarded by the sight of a large buck stepping out of the trees into the clearing. It gracefully loped to the pond and bent its head to drink.

"There! I kept my promise," Gaston said in satisfaction.

"Is that an elk?" Belle asked with interest.

Gaston chuckled. "No, elk are huge – they can weigh up to 800 pounds. Deer are a quarter of the size. That's a mule deer. There's also whitetails in these woods."

"What's the difference?" Belle asked.

"Well, the mule deer has bigger ears than the whitetail. And see how the antlers branch out, like a tree? The whitetail's antlers don't branch; they just have tines sticking off the main beam. And the underside of the tail is white, of course."

After its drink, the deer loped off into the woods. Gaston and Belle continued walking, to explore the woods further.

But suddenly, Gaston stopped short. Belle saw him tense, staring at some tracks on the ground. Then he slowly looked up and stood perfectly still, listening, his piercing blue eyes sweeping the landscape.

"What is it?" Belle asked softly.

He held a finger to his lips. Quickly but carefully he led her to a patch of thick bushes and gestured to her to hide inside. Quietly they both crept into the bushes, which concealed them from view. Then Gaston leaned in close to whisper softly to her, so softly she almost couldn't hear. His lips practically brushed against her ear, and she felt his warm breath on her skin, sending a pleasurable tingle through her. Her senses felt heightened.

But the thrilling sensation turned to fear as she caught his nearly-inaudible whisper: "Don't move, don't make a sound, and don't panic. There are wolves nearby."

Belle looked up through the leaves of the bush to the top of a ridge. For a few moments, she didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Then, silently as ghosts, they appeared: seven black forms, lean and wiry, their matted fur sticking up in tufts, the light reflecting off their sharp white fangs and malevolent eyes. Belle shivered. Silently, Gaston took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. She was comforted by his strong hand, muscular and tough and calloused. She knew he would never let any harm come to her.

"It's all right," Gaston whispered softly into her ear. "Wolves have a keen sense of smell, but we're downwind, so they won't catch our scent. Their eyesight is about as good as a person's, but they won't be able to see us in these bushes. As long as we stay quiet and don't make any sudden moves, they won't know we're here."

The wolves prowled about, noses to the ground. Belle sat absolutely still, trying not to breathe. She found herself fascinated by the creatures. There was a terrible beauty about them, an aura of power and ferocity in their lean, sinewy forms, a feral grace to their quick, lithe movements. Belle thought, if she were an artist, she would have loved to sketch them. They were nature personified, wild and untamed, beautiful but deadly. She forgot her fear, leaning forward to watch them more closely.

Suddenly, the alpha male raised his head sharply as he caught the scent of the deer that had passed through. With a short bark, he leaped forward, racing in the direction the deer had gone. The other wolves followed. In a flash, the pack was gone.

Gaston waited a few minutes, listening. When he was sure they were gone, he turned to Belle and helped her out of the bushes. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," Belle replied, standing up and brushing off her skirt.

"I'm sorry about that," Gaston said apologetically. "The wolves usually stay in the deepest part of the forest, far from any of the villages. But with the lack of game this year, they must be ranging farther in search of food. Did you see how they looked? Their ribs are showing, and their fur is thin and patchy. They're hungry, all right."

"They must be very dangerous," Belle said, grateful they hadn't seen her or Gaston.

"Yes, they are," Gaston said. "Usually, wolves stay away from people. They bolt if they catch a whiff of one. But in a year like this, when they're starving, they'll go after anything, including people. One of them went after me just a couple of weeks ago. Their hunger makes them vicious." He began to warm to his topic. "Bears, now – they're a lot bolder, in any year. Particularly grizzlies. You wander into a bear's territory, you'd better get out fast, especially if it's a mama bear with cubs. A grizzly can rip a man's head off with just one swipe of its claws. They're very powerful."

Belle looked at Gaston admiringly. "You really know a lot about animals, don't you?"

Gaston beamed proudly at the compliment. "More than anyone else in the village," he boasted. Then, remembering their narrow escape, he added, "Anyway, I hope you weren't too scared. I never would have brought you to this part of the forest if I'd known there was a chance of wolves being here."

Belle smiled. "I'm glad you did. I've never seen anything like that before - it was exciting. I'll never forget it. And I _did_ say I wanted an adventure, after all!"

He grinned at her. "You really _are _brave, aren't you?" he said approvingly. "Any other girl would have been screaming her head off just hearing the _word _'wolves'."

"And brought the whole pack down on her? That would be pretty foolish!" Belle laughed.

"True, but most girls aren't as smart as you are," Gaston pointed out.

"Well, thank you," Belle said, smiling. "And _you _used to say girls shouldn't think!" she added teasingly.

He laughed. "Well, I know better now, don't I?" He looked around. "The wolves are gone, and I'm getting hungry. Let's go back and have that picnic lunch."

"Good idea," Belle agreed. Gaston led her unerringly through the forest all the way back to the lake where they had left Tristan.

They sat companionably, eating and listening to the birds chirping. Then Belle's eye fell on a fallen tree that had landed across the lake, making a bridge. Impulsively, she jumped up and took off her shoes.

"What are you doing?" Gaston asked.

"I want to see if I can get across to the other side," Belle said playfully. Lightly, she stepped on the fallen tree and slowly stepped her way across, balancing carefully.

Gaston jumped up. "Belle, be careful!" he called worriedly.

Belle had been concentrating on her balance as she stepped. Gaston's sudden call startled her. She turned instinctively, slipped on the wet wood and, with a look of surprise, lost her footing and splashed into the lake, disappearing under the water.

_"Belle!" _Without hesitation Gaston dove in after her. He searched anxiously under the water, but didn't see her. Finally he came up for air, his long black hair dripping in his eyes, frantically scanning the lake for her.

Then he saw her. She was standing on the bank near the horse, her hair and dress soaking wet, watching him. "What are you doing?" she asked, puzzled.

"Rescuing _you!" _Gaston said indignantly.

Belle giggled, then covered her mouth apologetically. "I'm so sorry," she said, trying hard not to smile. "I can swim – I thought you knew that."

Gaston shook his head in mock annoyance. "You _could_ have mentioned that before you fell in!" He swam back to shore with long, powerful strokes and climbed out.

"I really _am _sorry," Belle said again, then added encouragingly, "But it was very brave of you to jump in after me! You risked your life to save me. See, you really _are_ a hero."

"That's what they tell me," he said with a grin, mollified. He gazed at her, her hair and skin shining from the water, her soaking wet dress clinging to her body, accentuating every curve. Almost unwillingly, his eyes moved over her form. He swallowed, trying to get control of himself. God, she was gorgeous. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

Abruptly he turned away, not wanting her to see the desire in his eyes. _Just friends, _he told himself firmly, almost desperately. _Just friends. _He could _not _allow her to sense what he was feeling. He'd lose her immediately if she knew. He _had _to hold back. But for a man who was used to getting everything he wanted effortlessly, it took a superhuman effort.

He took a few deep breaths, steadying himself. Better.He went to Tristan and took a horse blanket out of one of the saddlebags. "Here," he said, thrusting it at Belle without looking at her. "Wrap this around yourself so you don't catch cold. You're all wet."

"So are you," she said in amusement, taking the blanket.

Gaston looked down at his red shirt, drenched with water. "That's true," he said. Without a second thought, he pulled it over his head and wrung it out, squeezing out a rivulet of water onto the ground.

Belle took a step back in surprise and embarrassment, feeling self-conscious. She'd never seen a man shirtless before. It wasn't exactly proper etiquette, disrobing in front of a lady.

Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him. He just looked so…so _magnificent,_ his long damp black hair loose around his shoulders, his muscles rippling, his broad chest covered with hair, his skin wet and glistening. She found herself wondering what it would feel like to run her hand over his powerful arms and hairy chest, to feel him embracing her…

_Stop that! _she chided herself. She couldn't believe how silly she was acting. Next thing she knew, she'd be swooning like those idiotic triplets. It was ridiculous. He wasn't her Prince Charming. He was just Gaston. Just a friend. Nothing more. She turned away from him quickly.

Gaston pulled his shirt back on. "We'd better cut this short and get you home, so you can get into some dry clothes," he said. "I'd hate for you to get sick and miss the dance."

He helped her onto the horse and mounted behind her, and they headed back to the village.

It was about 4:00 as they rode into town. A number of people looked up as they approached, and their mouths fell open in surprise to see Belle riding with Gaston on his horse, both of them dripping wet, Belle wrapped in a blanket. "What happened?" LeFou asked.

"Belle fell in the lake," Gaston said shortly.

"Oh, and you rescued her!" LeFou said.

Belle opened her mouth to correct him, but felt Gaston squeeze her arm before she could speak. She turned in the saddle to look at him. He shook his head imperceptibly.

For a moment, she was miffed. Did he want to pretend he'd saved her so he could brag about it and grab more glory? If he did, he'd better think twice.

But then she saw the worried look in his eyes, and understood. If she announced that she hadn't needed saving, then Gaston would have to explain why HE was wet too. He didn't want to look like a fool by admitting that he had jumped into the lake when there was no reason to.

_All right, _she decided. She'd let it go this time. As long as he didn't make up some huge story out of it.

Meanwhile, the blonde triplets stared at Belle with naked envy. They had always fantasized about being rescued by Gaston. They would have happily gone and thrown themselves in the lake that very instant if it would produce such wonderful results. And Belle got to ride on Gaston's horse, too!

It was all too much. With a swooning sigh, they fainted.

Gaston ignored them. They were always fainting around him – he barely even noticed anymore. "I need to get Belle home before she catches cold," he told the villagers, and spurred the horse on, leaving them behind. Within a minute, they had arrived at Belle's house.

Gaston helped her off the horse and she opened the door. "Thank you, Gaston," she said. "I had a wonderful time today."

"I'm glad," Gaston said. "I promised you an adventure, didn't I? And that's just the beginning. I'll show you an even better time at the dance."

"I don't know how the dance can possibly top today," Belle said, smiling. "Seeing those wolves was incredible."

"Well, you've never seen me all dressed up! Now _that's_ a sight to behold," Gaston said, grinning. "Plus there won't be any danger there, and you won't end up soaking wet. Unless you decide to jump in the punch bowl or something."

Belle laughed. "And ruin that gorgeous dress? I don't think so!"

"Oh, speaking of being wet…thanks for not telling them I didn't rescue you," Gaston said. "It would have been hard to explain why I was all wet otherwise."

"That's what I thought," Belle said, then added warningly. "But you'd better not make up some wild story about it! I'm no helpless damsel in distress!"

"I know," Gaston said, smiling. "That's what I like about you." Then his look changed to one of concern. "Belle, you're shivering! Go, get changed into something dry. We can't have you getting sick."

"All right," Belle said. "Thanks again, Gaston."

"I'll see you on Saturday," Gaston said, and left. Belle closed the door and went to get changed, thinking back happily on the day's events. It had been the most exciting day she'd had since moving to the quiet provincial town. And Saturday just might be even better.


	10. I Feel Pretty

The following afternoon, Gaston was heading home through the village, thinking about Belle and anticipating the dance the following evening.

He passed by the home of Mme. Reinard, who was out in her yard trying to chop some firewood. She smiled when she saw him. "Bonjour, Gaston!" she called. "Looking forward to the dance tomorrow?"

He grinned. "Oh, yes."

"Well, you'll be very pleased with Belle's dress, I can promise you that!" Mme. Reinard told him. "She's going to look absolutely stunning." She sighed happily. "It does my old heart good to see all the young people dressed up and having a good time."

"I'm sure I'll see you there, then," Gaston said.

He lifted his hand in farewell and was about to continue on his way when he noticed the trouble she was having with the firewood, struggling to lift the heavy axe in her withered old arms. Normally he wouldn't have paid attention; it didn't concern him, after all. But now he paused thoughtfully, recalling the incident with LeFou. Hmmm.

Experimentally, he stepped forward. "Do you need some help with that?"

She looked up at him in surprise and gratitude. "Oh, do you think you could?" she said hopefully. "I've had so much trouble keeping up with the chores since my husband passed away. Usually I pay one of the village boys to help me out, but I haven't seen any of them around today.

But…" she faltered. "I hate to bother you, a great man like yourself…I'm sure you have more important things to do…"

"It's no trouble," he said, shrugging. An axe like that was like a feather to him. He took it from her, and in five minutes had chopped a huge stack of firewood. "There you go."

She looked up at him in amazement. "I can't believe how strong you are! You chopped all that wood like it was nothing!"

He grinned, basking in the adoration. "Oh, for someone like _me, _it's easy," he boasted.

"Thank you _so _much!" she said gratefully. "That was so kind of you."

"It was, wasn't it?" Gaston agreed, feeling very pleased with himself.

She laughed, taking that as a joke. Gaston was so charming and funny as well as handsome, she thought. It was no wonder that all the girls were crazy about him. "You're a true gentleman, helping out a poor old lady in need. I really appreciate it. Thank you."

"It's my pleasure," Gaston said grandly, milking the courtesy for all it was worth. "I'll see you at the dance."

He headed off, beaming at his own admirable generosity. He would never have believed it, but Belle was right: if he did or said even the slightest nice thing, people thought he was even _more _wonderful than before.

Mme. Reinard watched him go, smiling. _What a nice young man, _she thought admiringly. _That Belle is one lucky girl! _She sighed in relief, glad that her old bones wouldn't have to do any hard physical labor after all. Turning, she went into the house to sit down, put her feet up and have a nice cup of tea.

O o o o o o o

On Saturday evening, Gaston looked at himself in the mirror with satisfaction. He was wearing a fine red tailcoat with gold trim, a buff-colored vest, a white shirt and white trousers, a thin black string tie tied in a bow, and brand-new black leather boots. _I've really outdone myself tonight, _he thought proudly. Of course, he always looked gorgeous – that went without saying. But dressed up as he was, he was truly magnificent, as splendid as a prince.

He would need every possible advantage tonight, he thought. This evening represented his best chance to win Belle's heart, and he wanted to make the most of it. They had been getting along so well lately, after all. She seemed comfortable with him again: when they'd been galloping on his horse and he'd put his arm around her to steady her, she hadn't seemed to mind. Of course, that _could _have been just because she was too distracted by the fear of falling off, he reminded himself ruefully. When it came to Belle's behavior, he had learned the hard way to stop automatically assuming everything was in his favor. He used to interpret every look, word or gesture of hers to mean that she secretly adored him. But that had led only to disaster. He was more cautious now, studying her and trying to gauge how she felt, rather than simply seeing what he wanted to see.

But she did enjoy his company – that much he knew. She had been thrilled with their forest outing. And tonight…tonight he looked his absolute best, and they were going to the most romantic event the tiny village had to offer. More marriage proposals were made and accepted at the annual dance than at any other time of the year. But as tempting as it was to ask Belle to marry him yet again, Gaston knew it would be a mistake. He was all too aware of the "just friends" condition she had insisted upon, and of the danger of losing her if he came on too strong. His best bet was to stick to his strategy of playing it low-key, giving her room and being friendly but not pushy. He had to let her make the first move, if one was to be made.

Still…in the romantic atmosphere of the evening, surrounded by dreamy-eyed couples and music and candlelight, with Belle in his arms as they danced, and Gaston looking _so _exceptionally handsome…maybe, just _maybe, _this could be the night when her feelings would finally warm toward him, and friendship would turn to love.

If looks could sway her, his success was assured, he thought, admiring his reflection. Feeling hopeful, he picked up the bouquet of flowers and headed out the door.

O o o o o o o

Belle smiled as she looked in the mirror. Earlier, Mme. Reinard had done her hair, refusing any payment for her labors. "It's not every day a girl gets invited to a dance by the handsomest man in town! You need to look your best," Mme. Reinard had pointed out, ushering Belle to a chair. "Just leave it to me – when I'm done with you, you'll be the most beautiful girl at the dance. And with any luck, maybe you'll be a bride-to-be by the end of the evening," she added with a wink.

Belle was about to protest that she didn't _want _a proposal, that she and Gaston were merely friends, and that she wasn't looking to get married any time soon. But she stopped herself, realizing that Mme. Reinard would think such ideas were crazy. The old woman meant well, and was voluntarily putting so much effort into making Belle look beautiful – it would be rude and unkind to contradict her. Let her believe Belle was as marriage-crazy as the rest of the village girls; there was no harm in it, Belle decided.

Belle had spent a full hour in the seamstress' shop, as the elderly dressmaker's gnarled fingers expertly curled and twisted her hair, pinning it into an elegant chignon, with a back section of hair hanging long and loosely curled about her shoulders, and soft wispy tendrils on either side of her face.

Belle had felt almost embarrassed to be so fussed over – she couldn't imagine that a mere hairstyle could possibly be worth so much effort.

As she worked, the old woman chatted away. "How lucky you are to be going to the dance with Gaston! You must be so thrilled. He's a fine catch, to be sure. And such a gentleman! Do you know, just yesterday he saw me struggling to chop some firewood, and in an instant, he stepped right up, took the axe from me, and chopped a week's worth of firewood for me in only 10 minutes!"

"Really?" Belle was astonished.

Mme. Reinard nodded. She took a step back and surveyed Belle critically. Then she smiled. "There!" she said in satisfaction. "What do you think?"

Belle looked in the mirror and gasped. She would never have imagined her hair could look so elegant. "It's beautiful!" she said. "Thank you so much!"

She tried to press some money into Mme. Reinard's hand, but the old woman waved her away. "Seeing you so lovely is payment enough," she said beaming. "Have a wonderful time at the dance! I'll see you there!"

Now, back at home and wearing her new dress, Belle had to admit that the overall effective was impressive. Of course, she couldn't imagine spending this much time on her appearance _every_ day; that would drive her crazy! But just for one night…well, she had to admit that it _was _kind of fun to get all dressed up. With her elaborate hairstyle and golden satin gown, she felt like a princess out of one of her fairytales. She twirled in front of the mirror, filled with anticipation at the thought of the evening ahead. She was glad Gaston had invited her, and even more glad that she had accepted. As much as she loved her books, it _would _have felt lonely to be sitting all alone at home reading tonight, while everyone else in town went to a fun party.

Maurice came into the room and stopped short at the sight of her. "Oh, Belle," he said, moved. "You look so beautiful. The very picture of your mother."

Belle was touched. "Thank you, Papa."

He came toward her. She embraced him, and he kissed her forehead tenderly. "It does my heart good to see you going out and having a good time," he said.

"I'm looking forward to it," Belle said, smiling.

There was a knock at the door. Belle answered it to see Gaston, grinning and holding a bouquet of flowers. But when he saw her, his grin vanished. He stared at her in disbelief, speechless.

Belle faltered, touching her hair uncertainly. "Is something wrong?"

Gaston shook his head, still staring. "No. It's just…Belle, you look _amazing." _He gazed at her with awe. "I've never seen you all dressed up. I mean, you're always beautiful, of course. But in that dress, and your hair…Wow." He looked her up and down with frank admiration. Then he belatedly realized he was still holding the bouquet of flowers. He held them out to her. "Here. These are for you."

"Thank you," Belle said, taking them. She smiled and added, "And I must say, you look very handsome yourself."

That brought Gaston back to his senses. In an instant, he was standing in front of the mirror on the wall. "I do, don't I?" he agreed, preening at the sight of his own gorgeousness. He grinned at his reflection, admiring his fine clothes, chiseled features and perfect hair.

Belle laughed. "Come on, Casanova," she said in fond amusement. "I know it's hard to tear yourself away from that mirror, but if we don't get going, we'll be late." She took his arm and led him to the door.

It was funny, she mused. In the past, she had found Gaston's egotism obnoxious and off-putting. But somehow, it didn't bother her anymore. Perhaps she'd just gotten used to it. Now, rather than seeing it as a flaw, she saw it as just part of his personality, one of the unique quirks that made people individuals – just like her own tendency to daydream a bit too much. True, constant bragging was not exactly the most admirable trait…yet without it, Gaston just wouldn't be Gaston.

She was so lost in thought that she missed Gaston's surprised, pleased look when she took his arm. Maurice noticed, though, and smiled. _Ah, to be a young man in love, _he thought reminiscently.

"I'll put these flowers in a vase," he said, taking them from Belle. "You two have a good time! Don't bring her home too late, Gaston."

"I won't," Gaston replied. He looked at Belle. "Ready to go?"

"Whenever you are," she replied, and they headed out.


	11. Bella Notte

As Gaston and Belle walked toward the town hall, they saw other villagers heading in the same direction. Everyone was happy and chattering, and there was a feeling of excitement in the air.

Mme. Reinard saw them and hurried over. "Belle!" she said warmly. "You look lovely! Doesn't she, Gaston?"

"Most beautiful girl in town," Gaston agreed, proud to have her on his arm.

"Well, it's all thanks to you, Mme. Reinard," Belle said sincerely. "This dress is just gorgeous. And I can't believe what you did with my hair! I'll bet the queen herself doesn't have such a talented hairdresser."

"Why, thank you, my dear," the old woman said appreciatively. She turned to Gaston. "Gaston, thank you again for the firewood. I can't begin to tell you what a huge favor that was! I never would have been able to manage it myself. You're a real hero!" Gaston preened as she showered him with praise.

"Oh, with _my _strength, it was nothing," he bragged.

"Well, I truly appreciate it. Now, I won't hold you up, I know you're anxious to get to the dance," Mme. Reinard said. "I'll see you inside!" She waved and hurried off.

Belle looked at Gaston, impressed. "She told me about that – how you chopped all that firewood for her," she said. "That was very nice of you."

"I _know!"_ Gaston said enthusiastically. "Isn't it _great? _I didn't think my reputation could possibly get any better - but just do one little nice thing, and people think I'm even _more _wonderful than before!" He puffed out his chest proudly.

Belle shook her head in mixed exasperation and amusement. Trust Gaston to focus on the fact that being generous made _him _look good. He was probably the only person in the world who could somehow manage to be selfishly altruistic, she thought.

But he _was _being nicer to people; that was the important thing. Regardless of his motive, he was deliberately performing acts of kindness – which, she had to admit, was more than a lot of people bothered to do.

She was also touched that he had taken her advice. He might grumble and complain and argue, but deep down her opinion meant something to him, she realized.

They arrived at the town hall. As they entered, Belle's eyes widened in surprise. She wouldn't have believed that the drab village could produce such a festive atmosphere. Gaily-colored streamers festooned every wall. At the far end of the room was a long table laden with cakes, pastries, and bowls of punch; next to the table were several large kegs of beer. On the other end of the room, nearest the door, was a group of small round tables with chairs, each table decorated with a vase of flowers and two long candlesticks. The center of the room had been turned into a makeshift dance floor, where several couples were twirling to lively music, performed by a group of musicians in one corner of the room. The entire town seemed to be here, talking and eating and laughing and dancing. On this night, the villagers had put aside their usual modest, earth-toned clothing in favor of bright finery in a rainbow of hues, and the room was alive with color.

Looking around and taking everything in, Belle saw LeFou dancing with a dark-haired girl named Amelie. And there were the triplets, barely listening to their dates as they craned their heads to see if Gaston had arrived yet, Belle noticed with amusement.

Still holding her arm, Gaston led her through the room, cheerily greeting his friends. As they made their way through the crowd, everyone turned to look at them, making Belle feel self-conscious. But she noticed an odd thing: aside from the triplets – who glared daggers of jealousy at her – all the villagers reacted the same way when they saw her with Gaston. First their eyes widened in surprise; then, to her astonishment, they smiled at her in a friendly way, raising a hand in greeting or saying "Hello, Belle!" She responded in kind, but the warm reception was bewildering. No one had ever paid any attention to her before. She knew they all thought she was odd for reading so much.

She mentioned it to Gaston, who shrugged. "It's probably because you're with me," he said confidently. "If _I_ like you, it's like the seal of approval."

"Oh," Belle said. She supposed that made sense. Gaston _was _the most popular man in town, after all.

Just a few feet away from Belle and Gaston, a couple was chatting – a young woman with butterscotch-colored corkscrew curls named Monique, and her suitor Jacques, the village carpenter, a nice-looking fellow with short black hair. "Do you want some punch?" Jacques was asking.

"Yes, please," Monique replied.

Gaston turned to Belle. "Are you thirsty too? I could get you some punch."

"Thank you," Belle said. "I _am _a little thirsty."

"I'll be right back," Gaston said, and headed off to the dessert table.

Monique noticed Belle and came over to her. "Hi, Belle!" she said brightly. "I didn't think I'd see _you_ here!"

"Why?" asked Belle curiously.

Monique shrugged. "Oh, I always see you reading all the time. I didn't think you liked parties and things like that," she explained. She leaned in confidingly. "So…you're with Gaston? Is it serious? Do you think he'll pop the question tonight?"

Belle laughed. "Oh, no! We're just friends. Nothing more."

"Oh." Monique sounded sympathetic. "That must be so frustrating, isn't it?"

"No, it's all right," Belle assured her. She looked at Monique curiously. "You're not after Gaston yourself? I thought all the girls were."

Monique laughed. "Me and Gaston? I _wish _I were that lucky!" She sighed dreamily. "Sure, if Gaston suddenly came up to me and asked me to marry him, I'd be thrilled. Who wouldn't be? But I know it's never going to happen – he's never even said hello to me. I'm not a fool like those triplets," she added with a chuckle, nodding in the direction of the dessert table, where the blondes were flocking around Gaston as he poured the punch. Their ignored escorts stood by, fuming. "Look at them! Constantly throwing themselves at a guy who's clearly _not_ interested in them, while there are perfectly good, _available _men just standing around! They'd better wise up, or they'll end up old spinsters!" She shook her head, as if she couldn't believe such folly. "The rest of us are smarter than that. We love to watch Gaston, and sigh over him, and dream about him…and then we turn around and look for a guy we have a chance of actually _getting!"_ She winked. "Like my Jacques," she added affectionately. "He is _so _sweet. Do you know what he gave me the other day?"

"What?" Belle asked.

"A little wooden bird he'd carved himself," Monique said. "He said he was in his carpentry shop, working on a table, but he kept thinking about me, and he wanted to do something special for me. So he stopped the work he was _supposed _to be doing, and spent a whole hour making this sweet little bird for me. I told him how pretty it was, and he said, 'Nothing in this world is as pretty as you.'" She sighed happily. "Isn't that romantic?"

"It really is!" Belle said, impressed. She wouldn't have thought any of the villagers capable of anything creative or artistic.

"I'm hoping he might propose tonight," Monique confided. "I've been hinting like mad!"

"Good luck!" Belle said sincerely. "I hope he does."

"Thanks," Monique said. She smiled at Belle in a friendly way. "It's nice to finally get to talk to you! You're not at all like I thought you were."

"What do you mean?" Belle asked in confusion.

"Oh, I don't know…I always saw you walking around the village, reading…I thought of saying hi to you sometimes, but I didn't want to bother you," Monique said.

Belle was startled. "Did I seem rude?"

"Oh, no, not at all!" Monique assured her hastily. "I'm sorry – that came out sounding wrong. It's my fault; I'm not good with words sometimes. Forget I said anything."

"It's all right," Belle said. "But…what did you mean? I'd really like to know." She hesitated, then confided, "I _have _been kind of lonely since we moved here. I thought people didn't like me because I like to read books."

"Well, it _is _very odd, a girl reading," Monique confessed. "But no one dislikes you, Belle. It's just that…" She hesitated, wondering how much to say.

"Please tell me," Belle said. "I want to know. Be honest."

"Well, it's just…you never seemed to want to be _part _of things here," Monique said slowly. "It's hard to explain. But you're always walking around reading a book, not looking at anyone… it looks like you don't want to be disturbed. And even when you _don't_ have a book, you have this kind of dreamy, far-away look. Like your body is here in the village, but your mind is somewhere else."

"I guess I _do _daydream a lot," Belle admitted sheepishly. "Mostly about the stories I'm reading…they just seem so real to me, they send my imagination to another place." She frowned in concern. "I didn't mean to seem unfriendly, though."

"Oh, no, not unfriendly!" Monique assured her. "Just…preoccupied, I suppose." She thought for a moment. "There _was _one time a while back when I saw you at the fruit stand, buying apples. I said hello to you then, and you were veryfriendly. You said hello back, and I said 'How are you?', and you started telling me all about the book you were reading. But…well…" Monique looked embarrassed. "It's just…I don't know how to read. And I don't know anything about books. So I didn't really know what to say. And I had a lot of errands to do that day, so…I just said goodbye." She shrugged helplessly. "You probably thought _I _was being unfriendly," she added apologetically. "Sorry about that."

"It's all right," Belle said. "I'm sorry too - when I'm reading a good book, I just get so excited about it that I want to share it with someone." Then she remembered something. "When you came over just now, you said you were surprised to see me here. Was that what you meant?"

Monique nodded. "Yes, I didn't think you'd be interested in a village dance. You never seemed to care about what was happening in the village. You always looked like you wished you were somewhere else."

_I did, _Belle thought guiltily. She remembered how dull and provincial the town had seemed, how much she had longed to be in a world of fantasy, magic and adventure. Her books had been her escape, her way of coping. But now it occurred to her that maybe, by immersing herself in books, she had inadvertently shut herself off from the people around her. She knew that the villagers thought a woman reading was odd…but had she made any effort to dispel that impression? Had she gone out of her way to talk to them, get to know them, show an interest in their lives?

She suddenly remembered a morning when the baker had greeted her with a friendly "Good morning, Belle! Where are you off to?" "The bookshop," she'd replied and, thrilled that someone was talking to her, she'd eagerly started telling him about her current book. He had immediately lost interest, saying "That's nice" and turning away…just as _she _used to do when Gaston cornered her and started blathering on about his latest hunting success, she suddenly realized, startled. Maybe Gaston wasn't the only one who needed to learn social skills.

"Listen, Belle," Monique was saying. "There's a few of us who get together every week – we meet at someone's house, and we do all our weekly sewing then."

"Oh, you like to sew?" Belle said, trying to show an interest.

Monique made a face. "Heavens, _no!" _she said. "Darning socks isn't exactly the thrill of a lifetime, is it?" She giggled. "But it has to get done sometime. And having company makes it go a lot faster. It's more fun working when you can talk and gossip with friends while you're doing it. I know it probably sounds boring to you, but…would you want to come?"

"I'd love to," Belle said, smiling. "It doesn't sound boring at all." A thought struck her. "Do the triplets go?" she asked worriedly

Monique laughed. "No, it's just me, Amelie, Josette, and Cecile."

"Then I'd be glad to come," Belle said, relieved. "Thanks for asking me."

"Great!" said Monique enthusiastically. "Come by my house on Wednesday morning. It'll be fun having you there." She looked up. "Oh, here's Jacques! Jacques, you know Belle, don't you?"

"Sure, I've seen her around," Jacques said, handing Monique a glass of punch. "Good evening, Belle."

"Good evening," Belle replied.

"Do you want to dance, Monique?" Jacques asked Monique.

"I'd love to," she said, batting her eyes flirtatiously. She finished her glass of punch, took his arm and started for the dance floor. But behind her back, she waggled the ring finger of her other hand at Belle, then crossed her fingers. She turned her head to wink at Belle.

Belle laughed and winked back. It was nice to have a friend. Monique might not be a book-lover, but she _was _friendly and funny. Belle liked her.

She looked across the room to see what was keeping Gaston. He was holding two glasses of punch and trying to move toward her, but the triplets were blocking his way, chattering a mile a minute. Belle smiled and threaded her way through the crowd to rescue him. Several of the village men stood around as well, drinking beer.

"Oh, come on, Gaston," Bambi was wheedling. "Just _one_ dance?"

"Sorry, girls," Gaston said firmly. "I'm here with Belle tonight."

"What's the story with her, anyway?" asked Francois, swigging a tankard of beer. "A couple of weeks ago you said you were through with Belle. But now you're here with her at the dance. Are you back together with her?"

"Yeah, are you going to marry her, or what?" Claude asked. All of them waited with interest for the answer – LeFou and the other men curious, the triplets anxious.

Gaston grinned and opened his mouth to respond, then suddenly noticed Belle. "Oh, no," he said quickly. "We're just friends. Nothing more to it than that. We're just here to have a good time. Right, Belle?"

"Right," said Belle. But she felt an unexpected pang at his words. It made no sense - she had just said the very same thing to Monique herself, after all. This was what she'd wanted – what she'd insisted on, in fact. But hearing Gaston himself announcing out loud to everyone that they were merely friends, nothing more… She suddenly felt wistful, without quite knowing why.

The triplets, in contrast, reacted to Gaston's announcement with delight. "So that means…you're still _available!"_ Bunny squealed joyfully. She grabbed his arm possessively, almost making him spill his drink. Her sisters eagerly rushed to his other side.

Watching them snuggling up to him, Belle suddenly felt irritated. _She _was Gaston's date for the evening. She marched forward and took his arm. "Why don't we dance?" she said, leading him toward the dance floor. The triplets looked astonished. Belle turned her head and added over her shoulder, "Why don't you dance with _your _dates?"

Pouting, the blondes returned unenthusiastically to their escorts, who looked less than thrilled with the way the evening was progressing.

On the dance floor, Gaston let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks. They just _wouldn't_ let go! Normally I'd just push past them, but I didn't want to spill the drinks."

Belle smiled, feeling surprisingly relieved to hear that he hadn't enjoyed the girls' attention. She finished her drink quickly, then put the glass down on a table.

Gaston grinned and held out his hand. "Shall we?"

"Yes, please," Belle said, smiling and putting her hand in his. He took her in his arms and swept her onto the dance floor. He was a surprisingly good dancer. He had natural coordination, and years of learning how to walk lightly in the forest without making a sound had taught him how to move well – along with a lifetime of parties and social events, of course. Gaston was never one to pass up a chance for a good time.

The musicians announced a popular group dance. Couples lined up in rows, ready to dance in unison. "Oh," Belle said. "I don't know this one. I'd better sit it out."

"No, it's easy," Gaston assured her, leading her forward. "Come on. Just follow me. You'll be fine."

"Well…all right," Belle said doubtfully. The musicians began playing a lively tune. Belle moved slowly and hesitantly at first, unsure of herself. But watching Gaston, she quickly picked up the simple pattern, and began to gain more confidence. She found she was enjoying herself, stepping and clapping and turning with the group, making a circuit of the dance floor. People smiled at Belle as she passed them, and she smiled back. The music picked up speed, and the dancers moved faster, but Gaston and Belle were able to keep up.

Gaston grinned at her. "Having fun?"

She laughed. "Oh, yes!" And she was. For the first time since moving to the village, she felt like part of the group.

The dance ended, and the musicians switched to a slower, more romantic tune. Belle looked up at Gaston. He looked so handsome tonight. His eyes were so blue…she felt like she could drown in them.

"What are you thinking about?" Gaston asked.

"Just…what a perfect evening this is," Belle said.

He grinned. "It is, isn't it?"

Belle laughed. Typical Gaston. "Thank you for inviting me," she said sincerely. "I'm glad I came."

He held her a little closer as they danced. "Me too."

The rest of the dance passed in a happy blur. Belle couldn't remember the last time she'd had such a lovely evening. After the dance, they walked home through the autumn night, the dark sky shimmering with stars.

After the crowded party, the cold night air made Belle shiver a little, her bare arms getting goosebumps. Gaston noticed and took off his red tailcoat. "Here," he said, draping it around her shoulders.

"Thanks," Belle said, pulling the coat closer around her. She looked down at herself. "But I think it looks better on you than on me," she added with a chuckle.

Gaston grinned. "Believe me, nothing could look bad on you."

Soon they arrived at Belle's doorstep. "I had a wonderful time tonight, Gaston," Belle said.

"I did too," Gaston replied. He moved closer to her. Belle's heart leaped into her throat. Was he going to kiss her? Did she want him to? How would she react? What would it mean? Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as he bent toward her.

But he only took her hand and kissed that instead, with a gentlemanly bow. Belle was relieved, yet also oddly disappointed.

"Goodnight, Belle," Gaston said.

"Goodnight," she replied softly. She watched him until he was out of sight.

She closed the door and started to get ready for bed, humming a tune from the evening. It had all been so wonderful…the music, the candlelight, the dancing…

And that moment when she had thought Gaston was going to kiss her….

Was it really possible? she thought in wonder. Was she actually starting to have romantic feelings for _Gaston? _

Should she tell him?

_No, _she decided as she lay in bed. Not yet. If she told Gaston that maybe, just _maybe _their relationship could grow beyond friendship, he'd have a preacher and a wedding cake at her door in five minutes. That was just Gaston. To him, "Maybe" meant "Definitely, and right now."

Her feelings were still too new, too tentative. Better not to say anything yet. They were still going to be doing things together and enjoying each other's company; she could just take her time and see how things developed, and if her feelings got stronger. That was the best course, she decided. There was no rush, after all. They had all the time in the world.

But for the first time, she was actually entertaining the thought of a romance with Gaston. Never in a million years would she have believed that was possible. Smiling, she drifted off to sleep, dreaming of dancing in Gaston's arms, of him kissing her…

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Gaston cursed himself as he headed home. What was _wrong _with him? Never in his entire life had he ever been hesitant or unsure about _anything, _especially when it came to women! He was always so bold and confident, taking whatever he wanted without hesitation. But Belle…she had a way of throwing him off balance.

The night had been perfect. The music, the candlelight…it had all been just as he had envisioned. And the look in Belle's eyes as she gazed at him…she felt something new for him now, more than she had before. He could sense it. There had been an unspoken feeling between them, an air of promise.

He had brought her to her doorstep, and she had looked up at him, looking almost unbearably beautiful. This was his moment: the chance he'd been waiting for. He had bent down to kiss her…but at the last second, he'd stopped himself.

He was _so_ close to getting what he'd wanted for so long, he could feel it…but there was still that danger that it was too soon, that kissing her would offend her. He had sworn to her that if she came with him to the dance, it would be just as friends, nothing romantic. She might accuse him of breaking his word or playing games. So at the last moment, he'd simply kissed her hand instead. It was safer.

But when had he _ever_ gone for the "safe" route? he argued with himself. He'd always been bold and daring and reckless, acting on every impulse he had. Belle had shaken him up. He was too aware of the risk of losing her, too conscious of the need to play it safe, and it was throwing him off his game. He wondered now if he'd been _so _safe that he'd just stupidly thrown away his only chance of winning her heart.

But…_No. _Thinking about it, he suddenly realized with a surge of triumph that _not _kissing her was the best thing he could have possibly done. On the one hand, if a kiss wouldhave put her off, then of course it was good that he hadn't done it. But on the other hand, if she _was _starting to have feelings for him, and if she'd really been _hoping_ for him to kiss her, wanting it…well, there was no harm in making her wait for it a little, he thought with a smirk. Let _her_ feel a little of the desire and frustration he had felt all along. If he held back, kept things at the level of friendship, maybe her unfulfilled desire for him would get stronger, until finally _she _made the first move, and admitted that her feelings for him had changed. And once that happened, he would _know _she was his. No more second-guessing and trying to read her mind.

She was finally coming around; he could feel it. It would be foolish to risk destroying his chances by being too pushy or impatient _now,_ when he was so close to his goal. He would give her room, as he had been doing, and let her feelings for him grow. She would be his, he assured himself. He just had to stay the course.

There was no need to rush things. They had all the time in the world.

With that decided, he headed for home, feeling light-hearted. Things were finally going his way. He went to sleep, dreaming of the day he would finally have Belle as his bride.


	12. Arrival

The following day, Belle woke up feeling buoyant and lighthearted, full of anticipation. After a year of boredom and stagnation, every day like the one before, she felt that her life had suddenly become interesting, with new surprises around every corner. She smiled as she thought of the previous evening, and wondered if she would see Gaston today.

She was about to put her hair in the usual convenient ponytail, but then stopped, looking at herself in the mirror thoughtfully. Experimentally, she brushed her hair out and fluffed it up a bit, bringing out the natural wave, and left it loose around her shoulders. It looked prettier that way, she decided. Not that she was going to start spending hours primping, of course! But there was no harm in looking nice. She picked out a rose-colored dress from her closet and put it on. Then she went down to make breakfast.

"Good morning!" she told her father cheerily as she entered the kitchen.

"Why, good morning, Belle," Maurice replied. "You're looking very pretty today."

"Thanks!" she said, and began preparing some eggs and bacon, humming as she did.

"How was the dance?" Maurice asked.

Belle paused, spatula in hand, a dreamy look coming into her eyes. "Oh, Papa…it was _wonderful," _she sighed.

Maurice smiled indulgently. "I'm glad you had a good time."

Later that afternoon, Belle went to the bookshop to return some books she'd borrowed. On the way, her eyes lit up when she saw Gaston, and she smiled as he fell into step beside her.

"Pretty dress," he said appreciatively, eyeing her. "And I like your hair like that."

"Thank you," Belle replied, pleased that he'd noticed.

Seeing the stack of books she held, Gaston said, "Here, let me carry those for you." He took the books from her.

"My, aren't you the gentleman?" Belle said teasingly.

"Well, _someone_ told me I should do little things to make people happy," Gaston said with a grin. "I thought I'd give it a try."

Belle laughed. "Turning over a new leaf, huh? I like it."

They walked companionably on. "After you drop these off, maybe we can take a walk down by the river," Gaston suggested.

"Sure," Belle said. "It's certainly a lovely day for it."

As they neared the bookstore, they ran into Francois, Claude and LeFou.

"Hi, Gaston," they all said. Then Francois raised his eyebrows. "Hey, Gaston, what's with the books? Not planning to take up _reading_, are you?" he joked.

LeFou chuckled at the idea. _"That'll_ be the day. Gaston reading books!" All the men laughed.

Gaston laughed too, a little too loudly. "Oh, of course not!" he said hastily. "Just carrying these for Belle. I can't let the little lady hold all these heavy books by herself, can I?"

"Yeah, typical – always an excuse to show off for the girls how strong you are!" Claude kidded. "I'm surprised you didn't add 50 _more _books to the pile!"

After a few more joking comments, the men said their goodbyes and moved on. Gaston went on walking cheerfully. Then he noticed Belle's expression. "What?"

Belle frowned. "Why do you act like reading is something to be ashamed of?" she said.

"Oh, come on, Belle," Gaston said. "You _know _I like hearing you read me stories. But those guys just wouldn't understand. I have a reputation to think about, you know."

Belle rolled her eyes. "So you're brave enough to face wolves and bears, but you're too cowardly to let your friends know you like books? What are you so afraid of?"

Gaston bristled. "I'm not afraid of _anything!" _he snapped. "And I'm no coward!" He glared at her.

Belle sighed. She loved reading more than anything. It offended her to see it disparaged and made fun of. But Gaston just didn't get it. And now _he _was offended too, and they were on the verge of an argument. And it had been such a lovely day. "You know what? Never mind," she said, feeling suddenly weary. "Forget it. It's fine."

Gaston frowned and looked like he was about to say something else, but they had now arrived at the bookstore.

As they entered, Monsieur Liseur came forward, beaming with delight. "Belle! Just the person I was hoping to see."

"Here are the books I borrowed," Belle said, taking them from Gaston and handing them to the bookseller. "Thank you so much for lending them to me."

"It's my pleasure," Monsieur Liseur said, putting the books on a table. "But I'm so glad you're here! There's someone I want you to meet." He gestured behind him, and a young man came into view. He was in his mid-20s, pleasant looking, with short, neatly trimmed dark brown hair and glasses. He wore a brown suit, not expensive or fancy, but tailored and well-fitting. Everything about him was tidy and presentable, from his clean fingernails to his shiny, polished brown shoes.

Monsieur Liseur made the introductions. "Belle, I'd like you to meet my nephew Hervé. He's a professor of literature at L'Université d'Orléans. He's also written several books analyzing the works of Shakespeare."

"Really?" Belle's eyes lit up. "That must be fascinating!" Gaston scowled.

Monsieur Liseur went on, "Hervé, this is Belle, my best customer. She's an avid reader – she's gone through every book in my store! Oh, and that's Gaston," he added as an afterthought.

Hervé stepped forward, smiling, and raised Belle's hand to his lips. "Bonjour, mademoiselle. It is truly a delight to meet such a charming bibliophile."

Gaston immediately took a step forward, his hands clenching into fists. "_What _did you call her?" He clearly thought it was something obscene.

Belle was embarrassed. "Gaston, it just means someone who likes books!" she said.

"Oh," Gaston muttered. He stepped back, looking resentfully at the newcomer.

"What genre of literature is your favorite?" Hervé asked Belle.

"Well, I love all kinds of books: novels, plays, poetry…" Belle said, thrilled to be asked. "But my favorites are stories of adventure and romance and fantasy. Most of all, I love fairy tales. I know that must sound very silly and childish," she added, a bit shyly.

"No, not at all," replied Hervé. "Fairy tales have much more depth and symbolism than most people realize. What I find most intriguing about them is the fact that throughout the centuries and across a variety of cultures, the same recurring themes and character archetypes continually appear: the hero setting forth on a quest; the magical guardian protecting the protagonist and offering supernatural aid when required; the beautiful and virtuous young maiden; the disrespected, seemingly dimwitted character - often a youngest son - whose resourcefulness or luck brings him victory or rewards; the malevolent magical antagonist, usually a witch, who causes mayhem and danger. Then there is the theme of the 'animal bridegroom,' found in such disparate tales as ancient Greece's 'Cupid and Psyche,' Norway's 'East of the Sun, West of the Moon,' and here in France, Gabrielle de Villeneuve's 'Beauty and the Beast,' recently retold in simplified form by Madame le Prince de Beaumont. These recurring archetypes, found in fairy tales from so many disparate cultures, suggest a deep-rooted human need to confront and resolve universal issues through the medium of a deceptively simple story…"

Belle listened enraptured as he went on, fascinated by every point he made. It was amazing - here was someone who not only loved books, but knew much more about them than _she _did! She could have listened to him for hours. Gaston's scowl grew deeper with each passing moment.

After a few minutes, Hervé paused. "Oh, dear! I seem to have gone into 'lecturer' mode," he said with a self-deprecating laugh. "My apologies – once I start talking about books, I'm afraid I do tend to prattle on."

Gaston muttered under his breath, "That's for sure."

Belle smiled. "No, not at all, it's fascinating to listen to."

"You are most kind. But it was unforgivably rude of me to dominate the discussion," Hervé said. "I would be most interested to hear _your_ thoughts on the subject. Perhaps my uncle could put on a pot of tea, and we can continue our conversation?"

Belle was about to answer, but Gaston interrupted. "We were just about to take a walk by the river, weren't we, Belle?"

"Oh…yes," Belle said. She had been so caught up in the book discussion, she had almost forgotten that Gaston was there – a fact which clearly had not escaped the hunter's notice. She looked atHervé regretfully. "I'm sorry. We did have other plans. But…will you be in town long, monsieur?" she asked hopefully.

"Please, call me Hervé," the scholar replied with a smile. "And yes, I expect to be here for a month or two. I'm on sabbatical at the moment, doing research for a book. I'm not expected back at the university until after the first of the year."

"Oh, I'm glad to hear that!" Belle said, making no effort to hide her delight. "This village isn't very enthusiastic about books," she added with a rueful smile. "It's wonderful to meet someone else who likes them! Maybe we can talk more another time."

"I should like that very much," Hervé replied, his gaze lingering on Belle.

Monsieur Liseur spoke up. "Perhaps you and your father would like to come to dinner tonight, Belle? Say around 6:00? You could continue your discussion then."

"Thank you! We'd be happy to come," Belle said.

"Splendid!" Hervé said. "Oh, and why don't you bring a few of your favorite books along? I would be most intrigued to see your selections."

"All right. I will," Belle said, smiling.

Gaston cleared his throat impatiently.

"Well, we'd better be going," Belle said. "I'll see you both tonight."

"I look forward to it with great anticipation," Hervé said warmly.

Outside, Belle saw Gaston's frown. It occurred to her that she might have been a bit inconsiderate – she'd been so caught up in talking to Herve, Gaston had probably felt left out of the conversation. She smiled at him warmly. "So, let's take that walk now!" she said cheerfully.

Gaston didn't look entirely mollified, but he fell into step beside her and they strolled toward the river. After a few moments of silence, Gaston cleared his throat. "Belle…did I ever tell you the story of the time a few weeks ago when that wolf attacked me?"

"No," Belle said. "You did mention that a wolf came after you, but you never told me what happened. Why don't you tell me about it now?"

Pleased, Gaston puffed out his chest and began his dramatic tale. "It was one of the deadliest situations I've ever been in. No other man would have had the strength and skills to survive…" _Especially not a mealy-mouthed little bookworm, _he thought darkly. He went on, making the most of the opportunity to remind her of how impressive and admirable _he _was.

Belle was glad to see him in a better mood, and made a great show of listening appreciatively. The story was exciting, and normally she would have been riveted. As she'd gotten to know Gaston better, she had come to enjoy his stories: although they didn't feature magic spells or princes in disguise, they _did _have action, adventure and danger. And lately, she had been amused to occasionally hear a word or phrase from one of her books creeping into his tales. He had apparently been influenced by her stories, and tried to use some of their elements to enhance his own.

But as exciting as the wolf story was, Belle's thoughts kept wandering to the intriguing stranger she had just met. She was curious to know more about him, and couldn't help being thrilled to know that there was someone new in town who loved books and was eager to talk about them. She was looking forward to the dinner conversation that evening. Which books should she bring? There were so many that were special to her…

Gaston stopped in mid-sentence. "Belle! You're not listening!"

Startled, Belle looked up. "Yes, I am."

Gaston scowled. "I bet you're thinking about that professor guy," he said accusingly. "You were practically swooning over him in the bookstore."

Belle blushed. "I was not!"

"Yes, you were," Gaston insisted. "You looked exactly the way the triplets look when I bring home a new trophy."

_I did? _Belle thought in surprise. That was embarrassing to hear.

"Gaston, you know how much I love books," she pointed out reasonably. "I was just happy to meet someone else who liked to talk about them too. That's all."

Gaston hesitated, not sure how he should react to that. He wanted to argue further, but he realized that it would just make her defensive, and then they'd get into a fight. And worse, if he kept insisting that she was attracted to that other guy, it might put the idea into her head, if it wasn't there already. She _could _be telling the truth, after all: that she simply wanted to talk about books, nothing romantic….

He decided his best course of action was to drop the subject for now. Instead, he would talk about other things and get her to focus on _him_ instead, so she would forget all about the new guyThe less said about him, the better.

"All right," he said, and flashed her his most charming smile. He tried to think of something to spark her interest. "Did you hear that Jacques asked Monique to marry him?"

To his gratification, Belle's eyes brightened immediately. "He did? Oh, that's wonderful! I know she was hoping for it. When did he propose?"

"Right after the dance."

"The dance was fun, wasn't it?" Belle said, smiling reminiscently. "It's funny - I never would have thought this town _could _be fun."

Gaston grinned, glad that she was thinking about the dance. "Well, you were always too busy looking at your books to notice."

Belle looked thoughtful. "Monique said the same thing. She said I seemed dreamy, not a part of things here."

"I always said that too," Gaston pointed out. "I told you to get your head out of those books."

Belle laughed. "Yes, so I could pay attention to _you!_ Because of course, the world will end if everyone doesn't pay attention to Gaston all the time," she teased.

He looked sheepish. "I'm not that bad, am I?"

"Pretty close," she admitted, a twinkle in her eye. "But not as much as you used to be," she added.

"Ah, so in other words, I'm getting better and better all the time!" he said with a teasing grin. "I can live with that." He looked out over the river. "What do you say we go horseback riding? You can bring Phillippe this time."

"Oh, I'd like to, but I really should be getting home," Belle said. "It's almost sunset. I have to get back and tell my father we're going to dinner at Monsieur Lisseur's house tonight."

Gaston's grin faded. He'd forgotten about that. She was having dinner with the bookseller…and his scholarly nephew, who had mesmerized Belle with all his fancy talk in the bookshop.

Gaston wanted to tell her not to go – in fact, that he forbid her to ever see that guy again. But he knew Belle wouldn't stand for that. She wasn't like other girls, meekly doing whatever a man told them to. She was a feisty one, his Belle.

If she _was _his Belle…

"But maybe we can go horseback riding tomorrow?" Belle was saying.

"All right," Gaston said. "Tomorrow."

Belle smiled warmly. "Great. I'll see you tomorrow, then!" With a wave, she headed toward home.

Gaston watched her go. She was acting warm and friendly again, but he felt threatened nonetheless. He remembered the admiring, almost adoring way she had looked at that bespectacled egghead as he rambled on and on about books, and how distracted she'd been afterwards when Gaston tried to regale her with his wolf story. Her mind had been somewhere else. He'd managed to get her attention back…but what would happen if she spent a whole evening with that guy?

Well, she _did _say she would go riding with him tomorrow, he reminded himself. That was good. But he would have to keep a close eye on the situation, he told himself. He wasn't about to lose Belle to some namby-pamby bookworm – not when he was so close to winning her heart himself.

O o o o o o o

Belle entered her house, calling "Papa!"

"Down here, Belle," Maurice replied from his workshop.

Belle flew down the stairs. "Papa, I went to the bookstore today. Monsieur Liseur's nephew Hervé was there. He's a literature professor, and so fascinating to listen to! We had a wonderful conversation. Monsieur Liseur invited us to come to dinner at his house tonight – you can meet him then."

"Oh, how nice. My goodness, our social life has certainly picked up lately, hasn't it?" Maurice said with a chuckle. "When is Monsieur Liseur expecting us?"

"At 6:00," Belle said.

Maurice looked at the mantle clock. "Ah, so we have an hour. Enough time for me to wash up and change," he said, looking down at his oil-stained work clothes.

"Great!" said Belle. She went upstairs to her bookshelves and tried to decide which books to bring to the dinner. It was difficult; she had so many favorites! But oh, how wonderful to have such a choice to make…which titles to bring with her for a discussion with another book-lover! She would never have dreamed _that_ would happen – not in Molyneaux. Life certainly was full of surprises, she thought.

Maurice came into the room, clean and neatly dressed. "Are you ready, Belle?"

"Yes, I think so." She picked up the five books she'd chosen. "Let's go!" She went out the door, full of anticipation about the evening ahead.


	13. Dinner

"Come in, come in!" Monsieur Liseur said jovially as Belle and Maurice entered the house. "I'm so glad you could make it. Maurice, this is my nephew, Hervé."

"Hello! I'm glad to meet you," Maurice said.

"Likewise," Hervé replied amiably.

"Maurice, would you like a glass of wine?" Monsieur Liseur offered.

"Thank you, that would be very nice," Maurice agreed. Chatting, the two men walked over to the table where the wine bottle sat, and Monsieur Liseur poured the drinks.

Hervé smiled at Belle. "It's a pleasure to see you again, mademoiselle. Did you bring some books with you?"

"Yes. It was very hard to choose which ones to bring!" Belle admitted. "I have so many favorites."

Hervé laughed. "A woman after my own heart! I had the most difficult time deciding what books to bring with me on this visit to my uncle. As I said, I'm planning to be here a month or two, and the thought of being separated from all my books for so long wasn't easy! But Uncle reminded me that he does, after all, run a bookstore, so I would certainly be able to acquire any book I might need during that time." He looked through Belle's books. On top was the collection of folk and fairy tales that Gaston had given her. Hervé flipped through it. "Oh, this is a marvelous collection of folklore! Where did you get it?"

"It came from your uncle's store, actually," Belle said. "It was a present from a…a friend," she added, not quite sure how to define exactly what Gaston was to her at this point.

"A very thoughtful present indeed!" Hervé said. He moved on. _"L'Morte d'Arthur_ – a fine selection…Ah, _Don Quixote! _Cervantes' comic masterpiece! I must say, you have excellent taste."

"Thank you," Belle said. She smiled and pointed to _Don Quixote_. "So, monsieur, if I were one of your students, what would you tell me about this book?"

Hervé laughed. "Please, don't get me started! I'll end up talking all night. I could easily teach a whole course on this one book alone."

"Oh, but I'm interested!" Belle assured him. "I love _Don Quixote, _but I've only read it – I've never _studied _it. I'm sure there's a lot I'm missing. Tell me what kinds of things you would point out about it."

Hervé reflected. "Well, there is so much to admire in this novel. But personally, what I find most intriguing is the way that Cervantes explores different kinds of narration. The first section is written in the style of a contemporary romance tale. But the second section is written as a factual history, a real manuscript that Cervantes claims to be translating. In the third section, Cervantes enters the novel as an actual _character, _the author of the book – and the other characters, aware of the books he has written about them, try to alter the content of subsequent editions. This forces us to confront the question of what version of the story to believe, and which narrator to trust.

"Even Cervantes' use of language supports this theme of truth vs. fiction and form vs. content: in Spanish, the word historía means both 'history' and 'story,' depending on context. Within this novel, when arguments about how the details should be _told _become arguments about how the details actually _occurred,_ the meaning of 'historía' become blurred, and 'story' subtly transforms into 'history.'"

He stopped abruptly. "Ah, but there I go, lecturing you again!" he admonished himself. "That was the last thing I wanted to do tonight."

"It's fascinating, though!" Belle said enthusiastically. "I never knew all these things."

"You're very kind, but I'm much more interested in hearing _your _thoughts and insights," Hervé replied._ "_Tell me, why did you choose _Don Quixote _as one of your favorite books?" He looked at her attentively, his brown eyes curious and interested.

"Well, of course it's a very funny and entertaining story," Belle said. "But more than that, it's always had an emotional connection for me, especially since we moved to this village. In a lot of ways, I identify with Don Quixote."

Hervé raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Oh? Not prone to fits of madness, I hope?" he asked with a smile.

Belle laughed. "No. At least, I don't think so! But when we came here to this village, I was very unhappy for a long time," she explained. "People here dislike reading, and they especially think a _woman _reading is very odd. Your uncle was the only one who admired me for reading; everyone else thought I was very strange. So, I felt that there was no one I could really talk to, no one who understood me, and I was very lonely. And the village itself seemed so dull and provincial."

"I can certainly appreciate your sentiments," Hervé said sympathetically. "I myself would be most distressed to be forced to reside in such a rustic outpost, far from all culture and civilization, and dwell among people who reject literacy and education. It must have been very difficult for you." He paused. "But…how is this related to _Don Quixote?"  
_

"Well, since I was so lonely, I turned to my books for comfort," Belle said. "I read all the time, especially fairy tales and books of fantasy. I wished I could live in that magical world. So I can understand how Don Quixote felt. He loved his books of knights and chivalry so much that he convinced himself that that world was real. He rejected the reality of the mundane, everyday world, and began to believe that it really _was_ full of giants and such. I can understand his desire to be in a different world from the one that was really around him."

Belle was silent a moment. "But lately, I've begun to think there's a lesson there for me too," she went on. "Don Quixote embraced his imaginary world to the point of madness. He literally _couldn't _see what was really there. He attacked a windmill, thinking it was a giant, and flocks of sheep in the belief that they were armies. I'm not like _that, _of course! But metaphorically speaking, I did do something similar, in a way: I was so immersed in my books that I didn't really 'see' the village anymore. I would walk around reading, caught up in my book and ignoring what was around me, and I didn't try to get involved in village life. Recently I became friendly with a girl here who told me that by reading so much, I came across as distant, dreamy, not a part of things. So although my books were a great comfort to me, I think in a way, I may have made my situation worse by immersing myself in them _so _much. Does that make sense?"

Hervé reflected. "Well, I'm biased, remember. To me, there's simply no such thing as reading _too _much!" he chuckled. He mused on her words for a moment. "But I will say this. Granted, I've only just met you. But I must say, if the villagers here didn't embrace you or accept you, I honestly cannot believe that it was due to any fault of yours. It truly baffles me to think that anyone could meet you and not immediately be attracted to your charm, wit, warmth and intelligence. If they couldn't see that, then it simply means that _they _lacked the ability to appreciate your unique and sterling qualities. Personally, I think it was _their _loss, not yours."

Belle blushed. "Well, that's very nice of you to say. Thank you."

"I merely speak the truth," Hervé said with a smile.

"Dinner is ready!" called Mme. Cagnotte, Monsieur Liseur's housekeeper, setting platters of food on the table.

"Thank you so much, Mme. Cagnotte," Monsieur Liseur said. He looked with pleasure at the small feast. "You've truly outdone yourself. Come, everyone, let's sit down."

Amidst the meal of soup, roast chicken, baked potatoes, mixed vegetables, wine, and strawberry tarts, they all talked companionably. "Maurice, what is your occupation?" Hervé asked.

"I'm an inventor," Maurice replied, cutting his chicken.

"Indeed?" Hervé looked interested. "What have you invented?"

"Oh, all kinds of things. You must come to my house one day to see," Maurice said. "Most recently, I've been working on an automated wood-chopping machine, to save labor. I also have an idea for a device for hunters: it would lift a downed animal and bring it back to the hunter's home, so he wouldn't have to drag it."

"Those sound like very inventive and useful ideas! Quite intriguing!" Hervé said. He looked thoughtful. "It occurs to me that I might be of some use in facilitating your success. I know a man named Jacques de Vaucanson, who is an inventor."

"_The _Jacques de Vaucanson?" Maurice asked, impressed. "The man who created such lifelike automatons, and invented the first fully-automated loom?"

"The very same," Hervé agreed. "A brilliant fellow, to be sure. He was invited to be a guest lecturer at my college several times, so I had occasion to become acquainted with him. He lives in Paris. If you like, I can put you in touch with him. I think he would be most intrigued by your inventions, and perhaps could introduce you to the people you need to know: patent offices, inventors' societies, things of that nature."

"That would be wonderful!" Belle exclaimed. She would dearly love to see her father get the recognition he deserved.

"Well, thank you very much!" Maurice told Hervé. "I'd be very grateful for that."

"Consider it done," Hervé said with a smile.

Dinner passed quickly, the pleasant and stimulating conversation making the time fly by. As they were getting ready to leave, Hervé helped Belle on with her coat. "Thank you for joining us tonight, Belle," he said. "I can't remember when I've had such a delightful evening. It is a rare treat to meet a woman so intelligent, so well-read and insightful. I only wish more of my students showed your level of literary acumen!"

"Thank you. I had a good time too," Belle said, smiling. "As I said, in this village, I never get the chance to have really good, in-depth discussions about books. Tonight was fun."

"Perhaps we can have more such discussions in future," Hervé suggested. He hesitated a moment, then went on. "This may be too forward of me, but…might I have your permission to call on you?"

"Call on me…?" Belle's eyes widened. He was _interested_ in her, she realized. He liked her and wanted to get to know her better…possibly romantically. She was incredibly flattered. The idea of spending more time with him was appealing.

But she was also conflicted. If Hervé had shown up at any other time, she would have been thrilled, and allowed him to court her without hesitation.

But…what about Gaston? Only last night, he had held her in his arms as they danced, and her heart had quickened as she thought he might kiss her. She had begun to have feelings for Gaston, and for the first time, to entertain the thought of a possible romance with him. She had wanted to take her time, to see if her feelings grew, to let their relationship unfold and discover what it might lead to.

But now…there was Hervé. The kind of man she had always dreamed of, a man who shared her passion for books, who _understood _how she felt about reading and didn't think it was odd at all. A man who would be happy to spend hours discussing books, and recommending his favorites to her, and even teach her things she hadn't known before. He could open her eyes to a whole new world of literature.

She didn't know what to do. She wanted to get to know Hervé better…but she liked Gaston too, and didn't want to hurt him either. What was the right way to act in this situation? Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Seeing her hesitation, Hervé immediately withdrew. "Forgive me," he said. "I did not mean to be presumptious, or to make you uncomfortable."

"No, it's all right," Belle assured him. "I enjoyed talking with you too, and I do want to get to know you better." She thought quickly. "Will you be at the bookstore tomorrow?" No, not tomorrow, she realized – she was supposed to go riding with Gaston tomorrow. It was suddenly all so complicated. "Tuesday," she corrected herself. "Will you be at the bookstore on Tuesday?"

"Yes, I'm sure I will," Hervé replied.

"Why don't I meet you there on Tuesday, say around 1:00?" Belle suggested. "We can talk more then." It was a public place, less intimate than telling him to call on her at her home. That would give her time to sort out how she felt about it all.

Hervé smiled warmly. "I look forward to it very much."

He walked her to the door, where her father and Monsieur Liseur were waiting. "Thank you for a wonderful evening," Belle told Monsieur Liseur.

"I'm glad you had a good time," he replied.

On the way home, Maurice was in a good mood. "Well, that was a nice evening!" he said cheerfully.

"Yes, it was," Belle said. She walked home, feeling a mixture of anticipation, excitement, and anxiety. She knew she had a lot of thinking to do.


	14. Confrontations

Belle lay in bed, too excited and anxious to sleep, her mind replaying the evening. It had been such a thrill to meet a man who was so enthusiastic and knowledgeable about books, and to have such a thought-provoking, in-depth discussion about one of her favorites. She could happily have talked to Hervé all night.

But she also felt confused, and conflicted, and guilty. What about Gaston? Only last night she had danced with him, gazed into his deep blue eyes, quivering inside and feeling that something new was beginning.

And then, so unexpectedly…Hervé. The kind of man she had always dreamed of.

What was she to do?

She lay awake for hours that night, her thoughts in a whirl, unable to sleep. At breakfast, Maurice saw the dark circles under her eyes. "Are you all right, Belle?"

She sat down at the table and sipped her tea. "Oh, Papa. I'm so confused."

"What is it?" he asked in concern.

She told him her dilemma.

He looked sympathetic. "That's a tough one, Belle. How do you feel about it?"

"I just don't know," she sighed. "The night of the dance was so romantic. I was truly starting to feel something for Gaston. But now, there's Hervé, and he's so fascinating, and so intelligent, and loves to talk about books, just like I do, and understands everything I say about them…" She was silent a moment. "And I keep thinking about something Monsieur Liseur once told me."

"What was that?" Maurice asked.

"He said he thought the only reason I liked Gaston was that I was lonely and vulnerable, and Gaston was the only man who was friendly to me and showed an interest in me. So naturally I started to like him. But that if there were an intelligent, literate man around, I wouldn't have given Gaston a second thought."

"Is that true?" Maurice asked.

"I don't know," Belle said helplessly. "I never had a chance to find out! I mean, it's certainly not the _only _reason I like Gaston. He's fun to be with, and he can be very sweet, and I've grown to care about him very much. And…well…I'm attracted to him," she admitted shyly. "But still…it makes me wonder. I keep looking back at my relationship with Gaston, and how much he's changed since we've become friends. He used to _hate_ books, and he believed that women shouldn't read or think, just devote themselves to serving men. Now I've gotten him to enjoy listening to books – as long as they have a lot of action – and he's come to appreciate the fact that I can think for myself. Of course, it took a lot of arguing to get there! He can be pretty stubborn sometimes," she added, smiling.

"But even though he's changed, he's still Gaston. There's only so far you can push him," she went on. "I once forced him to read out loud to me, even though he didn't want to, because I had this crazy fantasy that if he just read out loud _once_, he'd somehow 'take' to it, and become an avid reader and thinker, having long provocative discussions with me for hours about books." She smiled at the memory. "It was totally ridiculous. He burst my bubble pretty quickly, and complained that I was trying to turn him into a bookworm. Which was true. I realized that he was right, and that it wasn't fair of me to try to force him to be something he wasn't. So I backed off. And over time, I grew to appreciate him for who he was, and enjoy his company. And then at the dance, I started to feel that despite our differences, there was something between us, and maybe we could become more than friends.

"But now there's Hervé. And Papa, here's the thing: Hervé is the man I was trying to change Gaston _into_!" Belle exclaimed. "Hervé _is _a voracious reader, and he's very intelligent, and he _loves_ to talk about books for hours. He respects my intelligence, and he actually _admires _the fact that I love to read. I didn't have to argue with him about it, or overcome any prejudice that a woman who reads is 'odd' or that women shouldn't think. And he's very polite. I didn't have to try to _change_ him into what I wanted. He already _is _that man, the kind of man I always _dreamed _of.

"But then...there's Gaston. I think about him, and I'm just so torn," Belle said miserably. "I do have feelings for him, and it did feel like something special was just beginning to happen between us. I know that Gaston will be very hurt if I start seeing Hervé." She sighed. "But if I stay away from Hervé, just to spare Gaston's feelings, then I'll spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been…if Hervé was my dream man, my Prince Charming come to life, and I foolishly threw away my only chance to know him! I just can't do that, Papa!"

She looked at Maurice anxiously. "Oh, Papa…what should I do?"

Maurice thought about it. "What happened with Gaston after the dance?" he asked. "Did you make any promises to him? Is there an understanding between you?"

"No," Belle said. "In fact, I've told him all along that we're just friends – I made that very clear. And at the dance, people asked him about us, and he told them the same thing. That's where we are 'officially' right now. But after the dance…there was kind of a 'feeling' between us, that maybe we were starting to become _more_ than friends."

"But you didn't discuss it with him?" Maurice asked. "You didn't tell him that things had changed? Or kiss him?"

"No," Belle said. "It was just a feeling."

"Hmmm….What about Hervé?" Maurice asked. "What did you tell _him_ when he asked to call on you?"

"I told him I'd meet him at the bookstore instead," Belle replied. "It seemed more public and casual. To have him formally calling on me at my home is so much more…serious, like a real courtship. I needed time to think before rushing into something like that."

Maurice considered the situation. "I think you're very wise not to rush into anything," he said finally. "You shouldn't make a commitment to a man unless you're sure that he's 'the one.' Right now you're confused, and you have a lot of mixed feelings. So I think what you need to do is take a step back and give yourself time to discover how you truly feel. You say that officially, you and Gaston are 'just friends.' So, I think you should keep it that way for now. Spend time with him, but keep it at casual friendship. Don't take it to the next level. And with Hervé, the same thing. Meet him in public at the bookstore, get to know him better, but don't have him start officially courting you until you're sure that's what you want. And if either of them asks, be upfront and honest: tell them you like them, you want to spend time with them, but you're not ready to make a serious commitment yet, to anyone. In time, your heart will tell you if you truly feel love, for either of them."

A wave of relief washed over Belle. Her father was right. She didn't _have _to make a decision now! She could take her time, get to know both of them better, wait to see how she felt. "Oh, Papa, thank you!" she said, hugging him. "That's perfect advice."

He patted her shoulder. "That's what I'm here for."

A whinny outside caught her attention. She went to the window and saw Gaston outside, astride his big black horse. Despite her decision, she felt a bit nervous seeing him, now that she was also interested in Hervé. _It'll be fine_, she told herself. _We're just friends. He knows that._

Gaston waited for Belle to come out of the house. He had decided that he would show her a _great _time today: he would teach her how to jump a gorge on horseback if she wanted, show her secret trails to explore that only he knew, reveal hidden waterfalls and secluded glades tucked away in the forest.

He was very aware of the fact that she'd had dinner with that other guy last night, and was a little worried about it. But it was only _one_ dinner, he reminded himself. It couldn't possibly stack up against all the time _he _had spent with Belle – the reading aloud, the forest, the dance – or destroy the feelings that she had for him. Surely he was still first in her heart.

Belle came out of the house. "Hello!" she said, a little too brightly. "I'll go get Phillippe." She went to saddle up her horse, mounted, and joined him. "Okay, let's go!"

As they rode, Gaston studied her. He frowned. Something was wrong. She was smiling, chattering away about inconsequential things…but something was different. He could sense it. After the dance, she had looked up at him with excitement and expectation, as if she hoped he might kiss her. Yesterday, she had shown up in a pretty dress and new hairstyle, clearly meant to impress him, and was delighted when he complimented her. She had been warm and open, even teasing him affectionately about his need for attention.

But today…she was different. Friendly, but a little nervous, and somehow…guarded, as if she were holding him at arms' length. She had put up some boundaries, sending clear "just friends, don't get the wrong idea" signals that reminded him of the early days of their relationship.

"It's a bit nippy out today, isn't it?" Belle was saying. "That chill in the air wasn't here yesterday."

_That's for sure, _Gaston thought, watching her.

"But I suppose it's to be expected," Belle went on. "It _is _October, after all. Winter is coming soon…"

"How was your dinner last night?" Gaston interrupted.

Belle started, then looked guilty, confirming Gaston's worst fears. "Dinner?" she said, much too casually. "Oh, it was fine."

"Did you talk to that guy again?" Gaston asked.

"Hervé? Well, yes, of course he was there. He's Monsieur Liseur's nephew," Belle said. "We talked about books." She looked uncomfortable, as if wishing she could change the subject.

"Do you have plans to see him again?" Gaston persisted. That was the big question.

Belle was silent a moment. "Yes," she said. "I'm going to see him tomorrow at the bookstore."

So it was true. That slimy little bookworm had gotten to her. Gaston felt a flash of panic. What should he do?

He tried to stay focused. All right. The important thing was that Belle was with _him _right now. He would show her a wonderful time today, remind her of all the things she liked about him, win her back. He wouldn't mention the bookworm, or let her know that he was jealous. He'd charm her, watch her, see how she reacted...

And then tomorrow, she'd spend the day with his rival. And Gaston would worry, wondering what was happening, if this interloper was stealing Belle's heart…

_No. _He couldn't take it anymore. All this waiting and wondering and holding back, giving her space, pretending that he was content with friendship, never allowed to reveal his true feelings, how much he longed for her with every fiber of his being…always being patient, playing it casual, trying to read her mind, guess how she felt …It was killing him. He'd always been the most direct, straightforward person alive, saying exactly what he thought, tackling problems head on. He couldn't live like this for one more second.

He had to _know._

He stopped his horse and turned to her. "Belle," he said. "We have to talk."

She looked at him, her eyes hesitant and unsure. Then she sighed in resignation. "I know," she said quietly.

Those simple words chilled Gaston to the bone. Part of him had hoped that she would be confused, wondering what on earth they had to talk about. He had hoped she would reassure him that he was being silly, that of course everything was fine and he was the only man in her life.

But no. She knew exactly what he wanted to talk about. That meant it was serious. And there was no turning back now.

He looked her in the eye. "No more games, Belle. Just tell me the truth. Where do we stand? How do you feel about me?"

She sighed. "Gaston, you deserve an answer. It's just…complicated."

Complicated? Why? _His _feelings weren't complicated. He loved her. He wanted to marry her. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Nothing complicated about it at all.

"Complicated," he repeated, a note of frustration creeping into his voice. "Fine. I'll make it simple: Do you love me?"

"I…" Belle looked down at her hands. "I don't know," she admitted helplessly.

The muscles in Gaston's jaw tightened. "Do you love _him?"_

Belle looked up sharply. "Hervé? No, of course not. I've only just met him." She hesitated. "But…I do _like _him, Gaston. And I want to spend time with him and get to know him better."

Gaston didn't answer. His hands gripped the reins so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Belle looked sympathetic. "Gaston. I did tell you from the beginning that we were just friends, and you said you could accept that," she reminded him gently. "You even told everyone at the dance that we were just friends, nothing more."

"I know," Gaston said. "Because that's what you wanted. But after the dance…things were different between us. _You _were different, Belle. You had feelings for me – don't deny it."

"It's true," she admitted. "I _did _start to feel that…that maybe there could be something more than friendship between us. I still do feel that way, Gaston."

Gaston felt his heart quicken with hope.

Belle went on, "But that's _all _it is: a 'maybe.' I just…I can't make any commitments or promises right now, Gaston. Not to you; not to anyone. I like you, but I like Herve too. That's why I think we should just stay good friends, at least for now."

"So I'm supposed to just sit and do nothing while you see this other guy?" Gaston said incredulously. "Just wait around for you to decide who you like better?"

"It's not like that…" Belle protested. Then she trailed off, realizing that at its core, it was exactly like that. She took a deep breath. "You're right, Gaston. It's not fair to expect you to wait for me when I don't know what I want, and I can't promise you anything. So…if you want to see other girls, you should. That's only fair."

"Great," Gaston muttered. It was the last thing he wanted.

Belle bit her lip, distressed to see him upset. She reached out and put her hand on his. "Gaston, I'm sorry," she said earnestly. "I know you want more than I can give you right now. Please believe me: I never intended for this to happen. I care about you a lot. I never wanted—"

_"Don't, _Belle," Gaston spat. "Do _not _tell me for the hundredth time that you never wanted to hurt me. If it were true, you wouldn't keep doing it."

Belle winced. "All right," she said quietly. "I won't say it. But it _is _true." She was silent a moment. "I don't think either of us are really in the mood for a ride right now. Maybe you should just take me home."

Gaston turned his horse back toward her house without replying. She followed on Phillippe. They rode in silence all the way.

At her house, Gaston dismounted, then helped her off her horse. She looked up at him. Her were eyes soft and troubled and vulnerable, a look that made him melt and want nothing more than to comfort her. "Gaston…please don't hate me for this," she said softly.

He sighed. "I could never hate you, Belle."

"I know this is hard for you," she said gently. "But you asked me to tell you the truth. I'm trying to be as honest as I can. The truth is…I'm confused right now. I can't rush into any decisions while I feel this way. I need to take some time to figure out how I feel and what I want."

"I understand," Gaston said. "It's all right. It's not your fault." _It's HIS fault, _he thought darkly. _That little weasel._

"And…are we still friends?" Belle asked hesitantly.

"Always, Belle," Gaston replied.

She looked relieved. "I'm glad." She smiled at him – a warm, genuine smile this time. "I'll see you soon, then. Maybe we can go riding another day."

"Sure, Belle." Gaston got on his horse. Belle waved as he left.

Gaston rode toward home, feeing like his world was crashing down around him. He couldn't believe this was happening. He had tried _so_ hard to do everything right, to make Belle happy. At the dance, everything had been perfect. When he'd held her in his arms as they danced, and she gazed up at him, the look in her eyes had made his heart soar. There had been something special between them; he was sure of it.

But now, out of the blue, this outsider had breezed into town to brazenly steal Belle away from him. And worse, he was _succeeding!_ Gaston gritted his teeth in frustration. All his big words and fancy talk about books had turned Belle's head. With a feeling of panic, Gaston realized that he was about to lose the girl he loved if he didn't do something fast.

He tried to calm down. He reminded himself that he _hadn't _lost yet. Belle still liked him. But…how long would _that _last? he wondered. It had taken _months _for Belle to like him, to start thinking of him in a possibly romantic way. But this new guy – she'd only known him _one day, _and already she liked him just as much as Gaston! What would happen when she met with him at the bookstore tomorrow? At this rate, it was only a matter of time before the bookworm won her heart completely, and she tossed Gaston aside like so much garbage…first telling him, of course, that she'd "never meant to hurt him," he thought grimly.

_No._ Gaston set his jaw in determination. He couldn't lose her. He just _couldn't. _Belle was _his _girl. He loved her. And he'd worked too hard and come too close to simply stand aside and let someone take her from him without a fight.

But what could he do? He remembered how adoringly Belle had looked at the guy as he spouted all his fancy gibberish about books. Apparently that was the quickest way to win Belle's heart…but Gaston couldn't talk that way. He didn't know how.

Desperately, he tried to think of a plan. It just wasn't _fair!_ Belle had been starting to fall in love with him – he knew it. If that little weasel hadn't come to town, everything would have been fine, and Belle would be his. Why did that guy have to show up now? If only he weren't here!

The wheels in Gaston's head were turning. _If only he weren't here… _Of course! With a surge of triumph, he had the answer. All he had to do was get the bookworm to leave town! Once he was gone, Belle's affections would return to Gaston, and they'd be back on their way toward romance, courtship, and eventually marriage.

Convincing him to leave would be easy enough, he thought, flexing his impressive muscles. Oh, he wouldn't beat the guy up or anything…not that the upstart didn't _deserve_ it, he thought darkly. But it wasn't necessary. A loud "boo!" would probably be enough to send a little pipsqueak like that running. Gaston would simply tell him in no uncertain terms that he'd be better off out of Molyneaux, the sooner the better. It wasn't like the guy _lived _here, after all. His home was in Orlèans, far away from the village. He was only here for a temporary visit anyway. So, he'd simply cut his visit short and return home sooner than planned, back to his fancy university and hoity-toity life, leaving Belle and Gaston to get on with their romance. No harm done. It was the perfect solution.

Relieved to have a course of action, Gaston went home and waited for twilight. Then he headed toward the bookstore and hid in the shadows, watching. Soon his quarry emerged. He turned to say something to his uncle through the doorway, then walked to the end of the row of shops, where he turned left. Gaston realized that he must be going to the bookseller's home, around the corner from the shop. Apparently the old man had stayed behind to finish inventory and close up. Which was good for Gaston, since it meant his rival was alone.

He caught up to Hervé around the corner and quickly stepped in front of him. The scholar looked up, startled. "May I help you?" he asked politely.

"Yes," Gaston said belligerently. "I want you to leave town. Right now."

"Leave town?"Hervé asked in surprise. "Good heavens! Why?"

"Because of Belle. I don't like how you've been talking to her," Gaston said accusingly.

"Well, she certainly _is _a very attractive and charming young lady. But I don't believe I acted impertinent to her, did I?" Hervé asked in confusion. "I had thought I was most congenial."

Gaston was beginning to get a headache from all the big words. "Look. You'd better stay away from her if you know what's good for you," he snarled. "Belle is mine!"

"Yours?" Hervé was taken aback. "Oh, dear. I had no idea. In that case, it seems I did behave precipitously. Belle never mentioned to me that she was married. Had I but known that she was your wife, I assure you that I most certainly would not have been so forward."

"My wife?" Gaston said, startled. "No, she's not my wife. I mean, not _yet,"_ he amended quickly.

"Oh, my mistake. Your fiancée, I should say," Hervé corrected himself.

Gaston shifted uncomfortably. "Well…no," he admitted. "Not my fiancée."

Hervé looked puzzled. "But...she _has _promised herself to you? There is an agreement between the two of you that a betrothal is forthcoming?"

"Not exactly," Gaston muttered, looking away.

"I see." Hervé was silent a moment, considering this. "I don't wish to seem a tad obtuse, but…in what way, precisely, is she 'yours'?"

"She just _is!" _Gaston exploded, feeling frustrated. He was starting to feel that he had lost control of the situation. He moved in closer to Hervé, making his voice as menacing as he could – which was very menacing indeed. "Look, I want you out of this village by morning. Make up some excuse for your uncle, I don't care what. Tell him you heard from your university and they said you have to cancel your sab…sabba…you have to come back right away!" he finished, shaking his head in frustration. "If I see you here tomorrow, there'll be trouble. Understand?"

Hervé looked up at his powerful and muscular adversary, who towered over him by a good six inches. He swallowed nervously. "Indubitably," he said hastily.

Gaston let out a breath of annoyance. "Does that mean 'yes' or 'no'?" he asked in exasperation.

"Yes," Hervé said quickly. "Yes, I understand you."

"Good," Gaston said, glad to finally have the problem solved.

He paused a moment and looked down at the thin, bespectacled young man, who was practically quaking. Now that he'd won and the scholar was no longer a threat, Gaston felt a little sorry for the guy. Maybe he'd been too hard on the pipsqueak. After all, Gaston was intimidating even to big, strong men. The poor little bookworm must have found him utterly terrifying.

"Look, it's all right," he said in a kinder tone. He could afford to be generous, now that he knew Belle would be his. "You just go back home to Orlèans and forget all about Belle. You'll be fine."

Hervé nodded, not daring to speak. Gaston stepped back. "Okay. That's settled, then. Have a safe trip home," he added for good measure.

He turned and left, filled with satisfaction at a problem solved, and especially pleased with that extra bit of politeness he'd thrown in at the end. Belle _had _told him to be more polite, after all. She would have been proud of him there, he thought.

Gaston smiled to himself. Now there were no more obstacles. He and Belle would be back together in no time. Whistling, he headed towards home.


	15. Consequences

"How was your ride with Gaston today?" Maurice asked, sitting down to dinner.

Belle sighed. "Tense," she admitted. "He asked me straight out exactly where we stand and how I feel about him. It was awkward, to say the least. I had to tell him about Hervé."

Maurice looked sympathetic. "How did he take it?"

"Well, he was very upset, and I can't blame him," Belle said. "I felt terrible about it. But we talked it out, and I tried to explain how I feel, and before he left, he said he wasn't mad at me – that it wasn't my fault, and he understood. He was sad, but he seemed to accept it. So overall, I think he took it well."

There was a knock at the door. Belle and Maurice looked up, startled. "Now who could that be at this hour?" Maurice wondered.

Belle went to the door and opened it. "Hervé! And Monsieur Liseur!" she said in surprise.

Hervé looked as white as if he'd seen a ghost. He twisted his hands in agitation. "Please forgive this intrusion at such an unseemly hour," he said, a slight tremor in his voice. "But it is of the utmost urgency that I speak with you."

"Of course," Belle said in concern. "Please, come in." She stepped aside.

The two men entered the house. In contrast to Hervé, who was clearly shaken up, Monsieur Liseur looked furious. Belle couldn't imagine what had happened. She had _never _seen the bookseller angry, in all the time she'd known him.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Hervé turned to her. "That man who was with you in the bookstore yesterday…how dangerous is he?"

Belle's eyes widened. "Dangerous? What do you mean?"

"Gaston threatened Hervé and ordered him to leave town," Monsieur Liseur said angrily.

Belle was shocked. _"What?"_

"You heard me," Monsieur Liseur snapped. "The man's a menace to society! A complete lunatic! He should be locked up!" He shook his head angrily. "How_ could _you get involved with him, Belle? I told you it was a bad idea!"

Belle turned to Hervé, still trying to process this. "He _threatened _you? Why?"

"Because of you," Hervé said. "He said I had to stay away from you, because you're _his."_

Belle pressed her lips together in anger. "Oh, he did, did he?" She stood there seething for a moment. Then she looked at Hervé and added apologetically, "I'm so sorry this happened, Hervé. Are you all right? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Hervé shook his head. "No, not this time. But he strongly implied that I would come to bodily harm if I did not vacate this village immediately. He said that if he saw me here tomorrow, there would be trouble."

"Oh, there'll be trouble, all right," Belle said grimly. "There'll be trouble right _now."_ She headed for the door.

"Belle! Where are you going?" Hervé asked.

"I'm going over there to give that bully a piece of my mind!" she snapped.

"You can't!" Hervé protested, aghast. "That man is _dangerous!"_

"He won't do anything to me," Belle said dismissively, opening the door.

"You don't know that!" Hervé persisted, following her to the door. "He's a brutal ruffian, and clearly mentally unbalanced. He may react with violence! I simply cannot allow you to put yourself in harm's way on my account." He took a deep breath. "If you _must_ go…I-I'll go with you." But he looked nervous at the very thought.

"No, Hervé," Belle said firmly. "If you're there, it'll just distract him and he won't listen to me. I'm going alone."

"But Belle—"

"I'll be fine," Belle reassured him. "Don't worry. I know him. He'd never hurt me." She turned back to the door with a determined look. "And he's not going to hurt _you,_ either. I'll make sure of that."

With that, she stormed out.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Gaston was sitting at the table cleaning his rifle when he heard a pounding on his door. "Gaston! It's me! Let me in!"

"Belle?" Gaston said in surprise.

She sounded very upset. Gaston immediately became concerned. What could be wrong that would make her rush over to his house so late in the evening, so emotional and hysterical? Had something happened to Maurice?

But he was glad that to know that, as upset as she was, she was immediately turning to _him_ in her hour of need. That was good. He could help, whatever the problem was, and he could comfort her.

He opened the door, looking sympathetic. "What is it, Belle?"

She marched right in, looking furious. "What on earth is WRONG with you?" she demanded, glaring at him.

Gaston was baffled. "What are you talking about?" he asked in confusion.

"I'm talking about Hervé!" Belle said impatiently. "I just can't _believe _you, Gaston! You're jealous that Hervé's spending time with me,so you _threaten _him and order him to leave town? Are you insane?"

Gaston's eyes widened. "He _told _you?" He hadn't expected that. The little snitch. And to think he'd felt sorry for the guy!

"Yes, he told me!" Belle snapped, advancing on him. She was absolutely livid. "When will you learn that you just can't _do _things like this? You're not five years old, Gaston! You can't throw tantrums and _hit_ people just because you don't get what you want! The world doesn't revolve around you!"

Taken aback by her fury, Gaston backed away hastily, holding his hands up placatingly, and bumped into a table behind him. "Take it easy, Belle!" He couldn't believe how badly everything had gone wrong. He had only wanted to scare off his rival so Belle would come back to him - but instead, it had turned her completely against him. He had never seen her so furious.

"I didn't hit him," he pointed out, trying to calm her down. "I never even touched him!"

Belle rolled her eyes in exasperation. "You _threatened _him, Gaston! You basically told him you'd beat him up if he didn't leave town right away. You scared that poor man half to death. You just can't treat people like that!" She shook her head. "You know, Gaston, I really thought you'd changed. But deep down you're still the same bully you always were, pushing people around to get what you want."

"But he was trying to push _me _around!" Gaston protested. "He was trying to steal my girl!"

"I am _not_ 'your girl'!" Belle insisted. "I'm just your friend! Well, I _was," _she added with a withering look. "And you don't _own _me, Gaston. I thought I made that clear a long time ago. I'm my own person – not _your _property!"

"I _know _that!" Gaston said hastily. "I didn't mean it like that—"

"I make my _own_ decisions about who I want to talk to or spend time with!" Belle went on angrily. "You don't get to decide _for_ me. I've told you before, Gaston, I won't be bullied or manipulated!"

"All right, all right!" Gaston said quickly. "I get it! It was a bad move! I won't do it again!"

"Promise me that," Belle said firmly. "Give me your solemn word that you won't threaten or hurt Hervé."

"All _right,_ I promise! I'll leave him alone!" Gaston said. He was desperate to get her to stop yelling. Everything was falling apart.

"Good," Belle said. "I'll go tell him that." She headed toward the door, then looked back at him seriously. "You've really disappointed me tonight, Gaston. I thought you were better than this."

Her words pierced him like a knife. She was looking at him as though he were a monster. He couldn't bear it. "Belle, listen to me," he said pleadingly. "He was coming between us! I just wanted him to go _away_. I didn't want to lose you!"

Belle sighed and shook her head. "Gaston, Hervé didn't make you lose me. You did that all by yourself." With that, she left.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Hervé was pacing back and forth anxiously. "I never should have let her go!" he said, agitated. "God only knows what that scoundrel might do to her!" He turned toward the door. "I have to go after her!"

"Now, now," Maurice tried to reassure him. "I'm sure Belle knows what she's doing." He trusted his daughter's judgment implicitly. And he had seen the way Gaston had looked at Belle before the dance. He agreed with Belle: whatever else Gaston might do, he would never harm _her._

"With a madman like that around—" Hervé began.

The door opened, and he rushed forward. "Belle! Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Belle said. "Everything is fine. Gaston won't bother you again."

"How can you be sure of that?" Monsieur Liseur asked.

"He gave me his word," Belle said. Monsieur Liseur looked skeptical. "Trust me," she insisted. "I'm _telling_ you, he'll leave Hervé alone from now on."

"Although I don't trust that ruffian in the slightest, I have the utmost faith and confidence in Belle_,"_ Hervé said. "Therefore, if she is certain about this, I can do naught but believe her."

"Well, I hope you're right, Belle," Monsieur Liseur said. He shook his head ruefully. "I always knew that man was trouble. I honestly don't know what you ever saw in him."

Belle sat down with a sigh. "I thought he'd changed," she said sadly. "I thought he was different."

"You're so trusting, Belle," Monsieur Liseur said. "Always wanting to believe the best of people. It shows what a good heart you have. But you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear."

"I guess not," Belle said, disappointed.

She was suddenly weary of it all. Weary of the drama, the confrontations, the emotional scenes. Weary of Gaston's stubbornness, his recklessness, his utter lack of manners and respect for others and basic common sense…

Hervé spoke up. "Nothing like this ever would have happened at the university," he said, sounding homesick. "Everyone there is so peaceful and civilized."

Belle smiled. "Peaceful and civilized" was sounding very appealing to her at the moment. "Well, nothing like that will happen _here _again either," she reassured him. "Don't worry."

Hervé smiled back, sitting down next to her. "No, not after you took command of the situation! I must say, Belle, you are certainly a woman of uncommon valour and courage," he said admiringly. "You swept out of here like a Valkyrie! I shouldn't wonder that even a brutal barbarian like Gaston would quail before such righteous fury!"

Belle laughed. "Well, I'm no warrior! But thank you for the compliment."

"It is well deserved, believe me." Hervé stood up. "Come, uncle, we've taken up far too much of Belle's valuable time tonight," he said. "Belle, will I still have the pleasure of seeing you at the bookstore tomorrow afternoon?"

"Absolutely."

She walked him to the door. He turned to her. "Until Apollo's chariot appears once more on the horizon, I wish you a most pleasant evening and a restful repose in the arms of Morpheus."

Belle smiled. He had such a lovely way of putting things, she thought. "Good night."

He started to leave. Impulsively, Belle said, "Hervé, wait."

He turned and raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

He was so…so calm, so reasonable, so…_restful, _she thought. Such a good, decent, intelligent man, unfailingly polite and educated and full of fascinating literary knowledge. He was just what she needed. "If you want…you can call on me," she said shyly.

His eyes lit up. "That would be an honor," he said. "I am most gratified to have earned your esteem."

"Yes, you have," she said. "Well, good night. I'll see you tomorrow at the bookstore."

He took her hand and kissed it. "Until tomorrow, fair maiden." He smiled and headed out the door.

Monsieur Liseur paused at the door before following. "A very wise move, Belle," he said approvingly. "You won't regret it."

"I'm sure I won't," she said. "Good night." Smiling, she closed the door.


	16. Apology

The next afternoon, Belle set out for the bookstore to meet Hervé. The past few days had been so confusing and conflicted and emotional, but today, she felt calm and certain. It was a tremendous relief, like a boat reaching port after a stormy voyage. As disappointed as she was in Gaston, in a way he had simplified things for her: his atrocious behavior had made her decision easier. Now she could look forward to a happy beginning with Hervé, without doubts or regrets.

She headed into town, blinking in the bright sunshine.

A dark hulking shadow stepped in front of her, blotting out the sunlight. Belle sighed. "Gaston. You're in my way. What do you want?"

"I have to talk to you," Gaston said urgently.

Belle walked around him and kept going. "I said everything I had to say last night."

"But I didn't," Gaston said, following her. "Come on, Belle. Just let me explain!"

"Explain _what?"_ Belle snapped, turning around. "Explain why it's fine for you to bully a guy half your size, just because you're jealous?"

"I didn't _say _it was fine!" Gaston protested. "Belle, _please_…just let me talk to you for a minute."

She looked up at him. He looked utterly forlorn and miserable, as though he hadn't slept all night. She relented. "All right. What do you want to say to me?"

"Look, about last night…I'm sorry." He looked sincere and anxious, without any of the smugness of the ostentatious apology he'd made the first time they'd argued about marriage. Now he just looked desperate for her to forgive him. "It was a mistake."

"Is that what you call it?" Belle said skeptically. "You threatened Hervé by mistake?"

Gaston winced. "Belle, be fair. Look at it from my side," he persisted. "Before that guy came, everything was going so _good_ with us. Remember when we went to the forest? We had such a great time that day."

The mention of the forest immediately brought the memories, unbidden, to her mind: the indescribable thrill of soaring over the gorge on horseback; her fear at seeing the wolves, and Gaston squeezing her hand, silently reassuring her that he would keep her safe no matter what happened; the feeling that came over her when she'd looked at him, dripping and shirtless after the lake…

Belle looked away. She didn't want to remember that. "Yes, we did have a good time," she admitted quietly.

"And then the dance…" he pressed on. "I was so happy that night. You were too, Belle. But then that guy came along and ruined everything!" Belle opened her mouth to protest, but Gaston held up his hand. "He _did, _Belle – you admitted it yourself! You told me yesterday that you were starting to have feelings for me. You thought we could be more than friends. But then _he_ showed up, and suddenly you decided you might like _him_ better! How was I supposed to react?"

Belle looked up at him. "I guess you were hurt and upset," she admitted. Darn him! She didn't _want _to be understanding. "But that still _doesn't_ give you the right to do what you did, Gaston," she protested. "Nothing can excuse that."

"Look, I _know _I messed up," Gaston said earnestly. "I didn't want to lose you, and I panicked. But I wasn't trying to do anything _bad _to that guy! I just wanted him to go _away! _I thought that if he wasn't here things would go back to the way they were. You and I would be together again, and you'd like me best, just like before. That's all I wanted. I didn't _hurt_ him. I even tried to be nice to him at the end!"

"Nice? How?" Belle said in confusion.

"Well, he was shaking like a scared rabbit, and I felt sorry for him," Gaston explained. "So I told him if he just went back to Orléans, everything would be fine. I even told him to have a safe trip," he added proudly.

Belle stared at him in disbelief. "So basically, you told him, 'Stay away from Belle, she's mine! Leave town now and you won't get hurt. Oh…and have a safe trip'?"

Gaston brightened. "Yes! See, I was trying to be nice there! Polite, like you said."

Belle sighed. Sometimes she just wanted to shake him till his teeth rattled. "Gaston…threatening someone is _never _nice," she said in exasperation. "No matter _what_ you say afterward. It doesn't make it any better."

"Oh." Gaston looked disappointed.

"And no matter how bad you feel, or how much you want something, you _don't_ have the right to scare people, or bully them, or tell them where to go or who they're allowed to see!" Belle went on. "Hervé didn't do anything _wrong,_ Gaston. He didn't deserve what you did to him. He has every right to see me. And I have every right to see _him. _You don't own me."

"I know." Gaston looked apologetic. "Belle…listen…I know this looks bad. But I'm not a monster," he said pleadingly. "Don't hate me forever for this. Please?" His blue eyes were anxious, as though his whole life hung on her next words.

Belle wavered. Darn him! He had done a terrible thing. She wanted to stay furious with him, to have nothing more to do with him. But…this was what always got to her. Moments like this, when he was so unsure and vulnerable, trying so hard, despite his absolutely appalling lack of judgment and basic common sense…

The big problem was…she _liked _him. That was it in a nutshell. Despite everything, his selfishness and stubbornness and all the rest…she was genuinely fond of him. In his own crazy, Gastonian way, he meant well. It was hard for her to stay mad at him for very long.

But that _didn't _excuse him acting like a common thug, either, Belle thought sternly. He was a grown man, for heaven's sake! He had to learn that he simply could _not_ treat people this way.

She made a decision. "Look, Gaston," she said. "Do you _really _understand that what you did was wrong?"

He nodded quickly. "Yes, Belle!"

"All right. If you really mean that…then you have to make it right," she said firmly.

Gaston looked at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Belle looked at him, her brown eyes serious. "You keep telling me you're sorry. But I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

Gaston stared at her in horror as the meaning of her words sunk in. "Oh, no, Belle! You can't mean that!"

He couldn't believe what she was suggesting. Apologizing to Belle was one thing. As much as he hated to ever admit he was wrong or say he was sorry, he had managed to overcome it in her case, out of love for her. For Belle, he would do anything. Even apologize.

But Hervé? That was crossing the line! The little creep had stolen Belle's affection from him, then purposely gotten him in trouble with her, trying to make him look as bad as possible. He was ruining Gaston's life! Yet Gaston had to apologize to _him?_

He shook his head. "No, Belle," he said firmly. "That's asking too much!"

She crossed her arms and looked at him sternly_. "He's_ the one you've wronged, Gaston. If you truly do realize you've done a bad thing and you're sorry, then he's the one you have to apologize to." Her eyes were cold now, the moment of friendliness gone.

He stared at her in frustration. Damn. She had him over a barrel. He _hated_ that sneaky little weasel. And the very _idea _of apologizing to his enemy was totally humiliating. But…but…if he didn't do this, Belle would never forgive him. It would all be over. She would turn away from him, and he would never have a chance with her…she wouldn't even be his _friend _anymore. Ever. He was stuck.

He stood silently a moment, struggling inside. _For Belle, _he told himself. He had sworn a long time ago that he would do anything he had to, whatever it took, to win her over. He hadn't known then how hard it would be. But…it was for Belle. He hated the thought of doing this…but he had no choice.

He took a deep breath. "All right," he said reluctantly. "I'll do it."

Belle smiled. That helped a little. "Good. You're doing the right thing, Gaston."

She went over to the bookstore and gestured to Hervé through the big front window to come outside. He came out at once, smiling broadly at her, but stopped when he saw Gaston standing a few feet away. He swallowed nervously.

"Come over here, Hervé," Belle said. "Gaston has something to say to you."

Hervé looked uncertainly at Belle. Then, very slowly and cautiously, he approached Gaston, as though the hunter were a rabid dog that might suddenly lunge at him at any moment. "Hello, Gaston," he said, in the same nervous, falsely-cheery voice one might use in saying "nice doggie, good boy!" to a snarling Rottweiler.

Gaston was overcome with irritation. Did the little pipsqueak think Gaston was going to tackle him and start pounding him into mincemeat right here and now - out in the street in broad daylight and right in front of Belle? He wasn't an _animal, _for heaven's sake!

Last night, he'd actually felt sorry for Hervé. He'd even been a little remorseful for scaring him. But now, the little egghead's overblown show of caution seemed so condescending that all Gaston could think about was how much he _hated _the guy. Gaston wasn't doing anything wrong, but the way Hervé acted was making him look bad in front of Belle anyway.

"Gaston…?" Belle prompted.

Gaston made an effort to relax his hands, which had unconsciously clenched into fists at his sides, and glared at Hervé. He couldn't believe he was actually doing this. He felt completely humiliated.He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he said, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. "I shouldn't have threatened you. I won't do it again." _You pompous, backstabbing little weasel, _he added mentally.

"I am…most gratified to hear it," Hervé said, looking anything but reassured. He looked at Belle. "Are you coming into the bookstore?"

"In a minute. You go ahead," Belle said. Hervé went back inside. Belle turned to Gaston. "Thank you for doing that. It was the right thing to do." It hadn't been the most gracious apology, but she knew it was the best she would get out of him.

Gaston nodded, glad just to have the embarrassing ordeal over with. "So…what happens now?" he asked hesitantly. "With you and me?"

Belle sighed. This was awkward. She didn't want to hurt him, but she had made her decision, and she was sticking to it. "Nothing happens now," she said gently. "Gaston, look…I can forgive you for what you did last night, as bad as it was. But it doesn't change anything. I told you yesterday: I like Hervé, and I plan to see him and spend time with him. I know you don't like that, and I'm sorry. But I need you to accept it, and respect my wishes."

She was absolutely firm, immovable. Gaston was at a loss; he didn't know what to do. He felt almost frantic. He had already apologized – what else could he do to win her back?

"What _is_ it about this guy, Belle?" he asked, overcome with frustration. "What makes _him _so special?"

Belle raised an eyebrow. "Well, for one thing, he's polite and respectful to other people," she pointed out.

"All right, I _get _that," Gaston said impatiently. "But come on, Belle. I can't believe the _only _thing you want in a guy is that he's polite! Lots of guys are polite!"

"That's true," Belle admitted. "That's part of it, but there's more too. You know how much I love books. Hervé does too, and he knows a lot about them, even more than I do. It's something we share, something we have in common."

"But I like books too now!" Gaston protested. "You read me all those stories, remember?"

Belle's heart felt a pang at his words. He was trying so hard. She didn't want to hurt him. How could she tell him that she and Hervé could really _talk _about books, in a way that was far beyond him? "I know, Gaston," she said gently. "But it's…it's just different. I'm sorry."

"What, because of all that fancy stuff he says?" Gaston scoffed. "You really _like _that?"

"Yes, I do," Belle said. She glanced at the bookstore. "He's waiting for me. I should go." She started to walk away, then stopped and turned. Gaston felt a moment of hope. Belle came over to him and said, "Thank you for apologizing to him. I know that was very hard for you to do. I'm proud of you for that." She smiled at him and touched his hand sympathetically. Then she went into the bookstore.

Hervé stood up as she entered. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything is fine," she assured him, forcing a smile. Gaston had looked so sad and defeated when she walked away. But she had to do what was right for her, she told herself. She tried to put him out of her mind. She focused on Hervé instead.

"So, do you feel better now?" she asked him. "I want you to feel comfortable here in Molyneaux."

Hervé smiled. "That is very kind of you. As I said last night, I cannot give any credence to any promise that ruffian might make; he is clearly not a man of honor. But I do have complete faith in _you,_ so if you feel certain that there will not be any more trouble, I believe you." He went behind the counter and took out a package. "Now, then, let us turn our attention to more pleasant topics, shall we? I have a surprise for you. Something that I think you'll appreciate." He handed her the package.

"Oh, thank you," Belle said, pleased. She opened it. Inside was a handsome, leather-bound edition of the complete works of Shakespeare. She gasped in delight. "Oh, how wonderful!"

"No literary household is complete without the works of the Bard," Hervé said, smiling at her pleasure.

"Oh, I have to read this right away!" Belle said eagerly.

Hervé laughed. "It is delightful to see such enthusiasm," he said appreciatively. "I have a new book that I am most anxious to read myself. Would you like to go around the corner to my uncle's house? It is much more comfortable there. Mme. Cagnotte will be there to chaperone, so you can rest assured that there is nothing improper in such a visit," he added.

Belle had to smile. Hervé was so conscious of etiquette and propriety. He was such a polite, reasonable, thoughtful man. _He _would never do anything crazy or reckless or stupid. "That sounds lovely," she said.

They left the bookstore and headed around the corner. Belle glanced around, but didn't see Gaston anywhere. She was relieved that there wouldn't be any more tense, guilt-inducing scenes. Maybe he had given up, she thought.

At the bookseller's home, Belle sat down on the comfortable sofa with her book. She looked eagerly at the cover, admiring the gold embossed letters. There was something so exciting about starting a new book, like embarking on an adventure. Full of anticipation, she opened it, breathing in the wonderful "new book" smell of leather and fine paper.

She was about to start reading when she noticed Hervé out of the corner of her eye. He was at a nearby table, arranging a stack of reference books along with parchment and quills. She watched him curiously as he finally sat down. "Are you working?" she asked, gesturing at all the supplies. "I thought you had a new book to read."

"Hmm? Oh, this is always my method when reading a book for the first time," he explained. "I always take notes as I read, to deepen my understanding of the text."

"Really? What kind of notes?" Belle asked, interested.

"Oh, all kinds. Let me elucidate. To start, I write down the first sentence of the book," Hervé began. "The first line sets the tone for the entire work. So I examine that first, and consider exactly how the author has chosen to open the book – what is the narrative style of the sentence, what is the emotional tone? Is there a theme or point being made? Then as I read, I can consider how well the tone and theme of that first sentence is continued throughout the rest of the work."

"You can get all that from one sentence?" Belle said in surprise.

Hervé laughed. "That's just the beginning! As I read, I also make note of each character as he or she is introduced. Is there a hidden significance to the character's name? What function does the character serve in the story: protagonist, antagonist, confidante, romantic interest, comic relief? Then, as I go on, I make notes on each plot point, as well as instances of foreshadowing, irony, and any historical or literary references. I use the reference books to catch anything I may have missed, and to get the full context and import of the references."

"Oh, I see," Belle said. "That's fascinating! I'm sure it helps a lot in your work as a professor."

"Thank you," Hervé replied. He sat down, opened his new book, and began to take notes.

Belle turned back to her own book, deeply impressed. No wonder Hervé had so much to say when analyzing books. _That must be what comes of a university education, _she thought. She was certainly going to learn a lot about books from knowing him!

Still, as she mused on this, she couldn't picture herself reading a brand new book for the first time that way. When she read, it was like diving into a lake: she plunged in headfirst, submerging herself in the story. If it was an especially good book, she felt as though the real world faded away, and she was really _there, _living the adventure along with the characters, feeling their sorrow and joy. When she closed the book, it took a few moments for her to return to reality, blinking her eyes in disorientation at the room around her. She loved that magical feeling of being transported to another time and place – it was the whole joy of reading for her. She didn't think she could feel that way if she had to constantly stop and take notes about the author's word choice and narrative style, she thought. It would take her right out of the story. That kind of analysis was certainly interesting, but a first reading was special to her.

But to each his own, she thought. There was certainly no law that everyone had to read the same way! Settling down into the sofa cushions, she opened her book and began to read.

O o o o o o o o o o o oo o oo o o o o o o o o o

Gaston paced his house, trying to figure out what to do. Belle had made it clear that she liked the bookworm and was going to continue seeing him, no matter what Gaston did. But he couldn't give up. There _had _to be a way to win her back. But how?

He had to leave Hervé alone, that much was certain. And Belle had also made the same big point she always made – about respecting her wishes and letting her make her own choices. He knew that was the most important thing to her. Where did that leave him? What could he do?

He thought about the time Belle had told him they couldn't be friends anymore. He had respected her wishes then, staying away from her…and she had eventually missed him and come back to him. Could that work again? He knew that being pushy always made her pull away from him, but backing off sometimes brought her around. It had worked the last time. But…he hadn't had a rival then, capturing her attention.

Gaston scowled. That little pipsqueak wasn't so great. Why was Belle so interested in him?

Suddenly he paused. _That_ was the answer! He had to find a way to compete with Hervé on his own level! Whatever Belle liked so much about that guy, Gaston had to do too, one way or another. He was determined to do whatever it took to win Belle over. After all, he was _Gaston_ – he could do anything he set his mind to.

Then he frowned. What Belle liked most about Hervé was all his fancy book talk. How could Gaston talk like that? That guy had read hundreds of books, and gone to college and everything.

There _had _to be a way – some kind of shortcut, some quick, easy way that Gaston could sound all smart and fancy about books. Reading a whole book would take him too long… He thought hard, trying to come up with an answer.

Suddenly he remembered something. At school, all those years ago, the teacher had once shown them a book with these…_things._ What were they called? Gaston couldn't remember. They weren't like stories…they were very short, less than a page, and they rhymed. But the great thing was, they were _fancy! _They used a lot of big words, and they were impossible to understand. Only a total egghead like Hervé could make any sense of them.

Gaston could get a book of those things, and read one over and over until he knew it by heart. He hated reading on his own, but for Belle, he would do it. Then he would go to her and recite it to her, very dramatically. And like a magic spell, those special, fancy words would win her heart. She would see that not only was Gaston handsome and strong, but he could do anything that other guy could do. He would give her anything she wanted, do anything to make her happy. Then she'd know that he was the best man for her.

All right. He had a plan. He'd go to the bookstore right now and get a book of those things …if only he knew what they were called. And then, he'd stay away from Belle for a little while, because that did seem to work with her…showing her that he was respecting her wishes and not being pushy. He'd use that time to get these special words memorized, then surprise her with how fancy and smart he could sound, and she'd fall in love with him. Perfect.

Gaston headed to the bookshop and pushed his way in.

Monsieur Liseur looked up and frowned on seeing the burly hunter. "Yes? May I help you?" he asked coolly.

"I need a book," Gaston said. "But not a regular book. It's a book with these things…You know…they're very short, and they rhyme."

Monsieur Liseur stared at him at though he was a complete idiot.

Gaston scowled. "Come on, you run a _bookstore!" _he said impatiently. "You have to know what they are!"

"'They're short, and they rhyme'," Monsieur Liseur repeated condescendingly. "Do you mean poems?"

Gaston snapped his fingers. "Yes! Poems! That's it! Give me a book of poems."

But Monsieur Liseur didn't move. "Does this have anything to do with Belle?"

Gaston frowned. "What if it does?"

Monsieur Liseur shook his head. "Gaston," he said. "What do you think you're going to accomplish with this…this charade?"

"What do you mean?" Gaston said defensively.

The bookseller looked him straight in the eye. "Face the facts, Gaston. You can't give her what she really wants. She needs a man who's educated, well-read, intellectual…a man who can talk to her on her own level. Do you really think a few poems are going to make any difference?"

Gaston stared at him in realization, his eyes narrowing. "You…you brought that guy here on _purpose!" _he said accusingly. _"_You _wanted _him to marry Belle!"

Monsieur Liseur's level gaze did not waver. "Yes. I thought he could make her happy."

"Who _asked _you?" Gaston snapped. He stepped forward angrily, glaring down at the old man. "She was happy with _me _until he came along! I should--"

"You should _what?"_ Monsieur Liseur said venomously. "Beat up an old man because you didn't get what you want? Go ahead then! That's how you handle everything, isn't it – by bullying people weaker than you? And you think you're worthy of _Belle?_ What would she think of you if she could see you now?"

Gaston looked down in frustration at the bookseller. All these damn _words, _trying to confuse him… He took a step back.

"Just let Belle go, Gaston. It's the right thing to do."

"No! I _love _Belle!" Gaston insisted. "And I'm _not_ giving her up without a fight!"

"If you _truly _love her, you should want her to be happy," Monsieur Liseur pointed out firmly. "Belle is a very special girl – she's intelligent, she's independent, she loves books. Hervé is a university professor, and he recently applied for a position at the Sorbonne, the most prestigious university in all of France. If Belle marries him, they'll most likely live in Paris, the center of culture. Belle will be surrounded by bookstores, museums, the ballet and the opera. Herve can teach her all about literature - he's well-versed in exactly the kinds of things Belle longs to know. He can introduce her to _other _sophisticated people who will appreciate her and admire her. He can give her the life she _deserves, _Gaston."

The bookseller folded his arms. "What can _you _offer her? A lifetime trapped in a tiny provincial town where everyone thinks she's odd because she has a brain? A life of household drudgery, scrubbing the floor and mending clothes?" Monsieur Liseur's eye went to the quiver of arrows on Gaston's back. "A pile of deer carcasses to cook? Is _that_ the future you have in mind for the woman you claim to _love?"_

For once in his life, Gaston was at a loss for words. He stared at the bookseller for a moment, uncertainty in his eyes.

"You _know_ I'm right," the bookseller pressed. "The best thing you can do for Belle is to stay away from her."

Gaston scowled. "No one asked you for advice, old man," he snarled defensively. "Just give me the book! That's your job!"

Monsieur Liseur shrugged. He knew his words had hit home. "Whatever you say," he said mildly. He went to a bookcase and drew out a book of poetry. "Here," he said, handing it over. "Take it, for all the good it will do you. In fact, I won't even charge you for it."

Gaston took the book, his expression stormy. Without a word, he turned and went out, slamming the door behind him.


	17. New Friends

_Author's note: Sorry to break away from the love triangle for one chapter! I had to get this scene in somewhere, and this was the only place to put it. But the soap opera will return next chapter!_

Belle knocked on the door of Monique's house, feeling nervous. Today was Wednesday, the day of the sewing circle that Monique had invited her to. She had never been very good at "fitting in," and she knew she had a negative impression to overcome. She fervently hoped the other girls would be friendly like Monique, not catty like the triplets.

"Belle! Come on in!" Monique said, opening the door. Belle entered and saw three other girls sitting on chairs and on the couch, sewing projects in hand. "Girls, this is Belle. Belle, this is Cecile" – she pointed to a plump, 21-year-old woman with shoulder-length red hair – "and those are her twin boys, Renaud and Raoul," pointing to two little three-year-old boys who were wrestling on the floor.

Cecile raised a hand in greeting. "Bonjour, Belle."

"Pleased to meet you," Belle said, sitting down, and taking a shirt that needed mending out of her basket.

"Cecile is the 'wise woman' of our group – we all ask her advice, 'cause she's the only one who's actually married with kids," Monique said.

Cecile snorted. "Right, the 'wise woman,' that's me," she said, laughing. "If I'm so wise, why can't I get these two to behave?"

Belle smiled. "Your boys are adorable, Cecile."

"Thanks. They're a handful sometimes, but overall they're good kids," Cecile said fondly.

Monique went on with the introductions. Josette was 18, a rather flighty, naive girl with long, frizzy blonde hair. Amelie was the youngest, a shy, petite 17-year-old girl with long, dark brown hair, darker than Belle's.

"Right," said Monique, sitting down. "Now that the introductions are out of the way, we can get down to important business: talking about my engagement!"

"Congratulations," Belle said with a smile. "I guess all that hinting paid off after all!"

"You know it!" Monique said. "Even Jacques couldn't help but get the message! I wasn't exactly subtle," she added with a giggle. She turned to Cecile. "Okay, Cecile: you're the one who's married. Give me some pointers."

Cecile grinned. "Well, the most important thing to remember is this: men like to think they're the ones in charge."

Belle's heart sank a little. _Great, _she thought. _More people who think women should be obedient to men._

Josette nodded her head eagerly. "Yes, that's what my parents said. When I get married, I must listen to my husband."

Cecile laughed. "Are you kidding? I said men like to _think _they're in charge. I didn't say they _are_ in charge!" She put down her sewing. "Okay, girls, listen up! Auntie Cecile has a story for you. The other day, I had just mopped the floor, and gotten dinner in the oven, and _finally _gotten the kids to settle down after fighting all day. So I sat down to rest, totally exhausted. Emile walked in at that moment, and can you believe it? He walked right in with his big muddy boots, and tracked mud all over my nice clean floor. I could have _killed_ him!"

"Oh, what a shame!" said Josette sympathetically. "So you had to clean the floor all over again. It is hard, being a woman."

Cecile shook her head. "Josette, honey, you have a lot to learn. Pay attention. Now, contrary to what our blonde friend here thinks, there was no _way _I was going to clean that floor again. I'd done enough work for one day, thank you very much! But on the other hand, I knew that Emile worked hard all day too, and if I started scolding him the minute he walked in the door, he'd get angry and we'd get into a huge fight."

Monique leaned forward with interest. "So what did you do?"

Cecile smiled. "I purposely looked very upset, so he rushed over and asked me what was wrong. I said, 'Oh, Emile, I know how hard you work all day, so I wanted everything to be perfect for you when you got home! I cleaned the whole house, and I made a nice dinner for you. But now the floor is all muddy again! It's not right – you deserve to come home to a beautiful clean house! I'll go clean the floor again right now…" Then I stopped and said, "Oh, _no!_ If I go clean it now, then the dinner will get burned!" Then I burst into tears. "'Oh, Emile, I wanted it all to be so perfect for you, and now it's all wrong!'"

The other girls laughed. "How did he react?" Belle asked curiously.

Cecile beamed triumphantly. "He took me in his arms, and said, 'Oh, Cecile, you are the most loving wife any man could ask for. Please don't cry! You go deal with the dinner, and I'll clean the floor while you do that.'"

"Really?" asked Josette in disbelief.

"Yep," said Cecile. "I protested, of course. I said, 'Oh, no, Emile, you're a man! You shouldn't have to do that.' He said, 'Nonsense. It's the least I can do – I messed up all your hard work with my muddy boots! You go fix dinner, and don't worry about a thing.' So I kissed him and told him how wonderful he was, and he kissed me and told me how wonderful _I _was, and it all worked out fine."

"Very smart! I have to remember all this!" Monique said, grinning.

Belle looked thoughtful. "Isn't it a little…deceitful, though? Pretending one thing when you feel something else?"

Cecile shrugged. "Maybe. So what? This way, both of us got what we wanted. I got him to clean the floor, and he got to feel like he's Mr. Wonderful and like he has the most amazingly devoted wife in the world! Everyone's happy."

"No, I agree with Belle," Josette piped up. "I think you should have cleaned the floor yourself, without complaining at all. That's a woman's job!"

"I didn't say she should do _that!" _Belle protested.

Monique turned to Belle. "Belle, how _would _you handle it? I'm about to get married – I need all the opinions I can get!"

Belle considered. "I'd be straightforward and honest about it. I'd say, 'Honey, I worked very hard to clean that floor, and now you've tracked mud all over it. I know you didn't mean to, but could you please be more careful next time? I'd appreciate it."

Amelie nodded. "I like Belle's way better. I think if two people love each other, they should be honest with each other."

"That works too...of course, it doesn't get the floor clean!" Cecile said with a wink.

"Well, that's true," Belle admitted with a smile. Although she still believed that honesty was the best policy, Cecile did have a point. Belle could easily imagine that technique working on Gaston, for example - knowing him, he'd probably agree to _anything_ as long as he had his ego stroked. "I guess I have a lot to learn about men, too!" she said with a laugh.

"Join the club!" said Monique, grinning. "That's what we're here for!"

Belle smiled back. She was having fun - she liked these girls. And she was surprised and pleased to discover that they weren't the mindless slaves to men that she had always assumed they must be. Well, except for Josette, a little. But overall, these girls were a lot smarter and spunkier than she had ever given them credit for.

"Speaking of men…Amelie, I _have_ to know," Monique said, turning to the girl in question. "What were you doing at the dance with LeFou, of all people? Did no one else ask you?"

"I _like _LeFou," Amelia said defensively. "He's sweet." Monique looked skeptical. "He _is," _Amelie insisted. "He's funny, and he makes me laugh. And he's so caring, and so happy when I talk to him…I don't think he's used to getting attention from girls."

"That's for sure!" agreed Cecile, rolling her eyes.

"But he's really nice," Amelie went on. "You girls know me – I'm usually so shy and tongue-tied around men. But LeFou is…well, he's _approachable._ I don't feel shy with him. I've been coming up and talking to him lately, and one day I made a batch of cookies and gave him some. And he was just so surprised, and appreciated it so much and thanked me so much. It's nice to feel wanted, you know? And then, when he asked me to the dance, he was so shy about it…it was adorable. He kept stammering, and finally I had to say, 'Are you asking me to the dance? Because I'd love to go.' And his whole face just lit up. And then at the dance, he was so attentive. He kept asking if I was having a good time, if he could get me another drink…it was nice. He made me feel special."

"Well, that _is _sweet, I have to admit it," Monique agreed.

Amelie nodded. "I know everyone always dreams of Gaston, and of course he _is _unbelievably handsome. But if you were with Gaston, everything would be all about _him, _you know?"

"Gaston!" Monique exclaimed. "That reminds me." She turned to Belle. "Your turn! You were at the dance with Gaston – which, believe me, had a lot of tongues wagging. But you said that unfortunately, you were just friends with him, nothing romantic. Very frustrating. But now, I've been seeing you around town with that new guy, the bookseller's nephew. What's the story there? We're all dying to know."

Belle blushed. "His name is Hervé. He's a literature professor in Orlèans."

"Oh, so that means he likes books!" said Josette. "And _you _like books! So that's perfect!"

"Yes, I suppose it is," Belle said with a laugh.

"Great! So that means we only have Josette to match up," Monique said. "But all the guys are _begging _to court her, so her only problem is which one to pick."

Josette smiled. "Well, it's an important decision! I have to make the right choice."

"Uh-huh," Monique said. "And such hard work, flirting with all of them while you try to make up your mind! I feel so sorry for you!" The girls all laughed.

The talk gradually turned to other topics. Josette's mother was sick, and the girls agreed to take turns coming over and cooking meals for the family to help out. Amelie's family's farm had had a tough year, with the drought over the summer, but the recent rain had helped a bit, and she thought they'd be able to salvage enough of the crops to make it through the winter. Their sow had recently given birth to a large litter of piglets, which would help too. Cecile's husband, a silversmith, had recently gotten an order for a full service of ornate formal dinnerware from a nobleman in Clermont-Ferrand who'd heard about his talent and the exceptionally fine quality of his work. "We're so thrilled about it!" Cecile said. "Not only is the nobleman paying handsomely for it, but he said if it turns out well, he'll recommend Emile to other people he knows!"

"That's wonderful!" Belle said, impressed.

"How about you, Belle?" Cecile asked. "How is your father doing?"

Belle hesitated. She suspected that the villagers didn't hold her father's inventing in high regard. "Well," she said slowly, "he's almost finished with his latest invention. It's a mechanical wood-chopper. You know how hard it is to chop wood by hand? This machine would do it _for _you. You just put it in front of the logs and press a button, and it chops it into firewood."

The girls looked impressed. "Does it actually work?" Monique asked.

Belle nodded. "Yes, it does. He's just fine-tuning it. It should be ready in a few weeks. We're very excited about it," she added shyly. "He's been inventing things for years, but this is something really useful that I hope will be a big success."

"It certainly sounds useful!" Monique said. "My father has a lot of trouble chopping firewood, with his bad back. He could definitely use something like that."

Josette nodded enthusiastically. "That really is a good idea. And to think we all thought your father was crazy! I guess we were wrong."

The other girls stared at her, appalled. "JOSETTE!" scolded Monique.

Josette looked bewildered. "What? I _said_ we were wrong."

Monique turned to Belle, looking mortified. "Belle…I'm so sorry."

"It's all right," said Belle, feeling uncomfortable.

Monique shook her head. "No, it's not. I'm really sorry. We're all a bunch of terrible gossips, I know. It's just...not much happens in this village, so when someone moves here from out of town, it's big news. You and your father were…you know, a little different…and you mostly kept to yourselves…so, people sort of talked. We're sorry, right girls?" The other girls nodded. "Now that we've gotten to know you, it's different. I hope you'll come again next week?"

"All right. If you still want me?" Belle said.

Monique nodded firmly. "Yes, we do. I wouldn't have invited you in the first place if I didn't like you," she pointed out.

Belle smiled, feeling better. She appreciated Monique's honesty. "All right then. I'll come."

"Good!" Monique said. "And I hope you're not mad even though Josette is an idiot."

"Hey!" Josette said, offended. She turned to Belle. "Sorry, Belle," she said sheepishly. "I didn't mean it in a bad way. I guess I talk before I think sometimes."

"It's okay," Belle assured her. "In a way it was good – it got everything out in the open."

Josette stuck her tongue out at Monique. "See? It was a _good _thing!" she insisted. Monique rolled her eyes.

The sound of a crash made them all look up. The two little boys were chasing each other up and down the hall, and one of them had bumped into a side table, sending a vase of flowers crashing to the ground.

"Raoul! Renaud!" scolded Cecile, getting up and rushing over to them. "Settle down and stop behaving like wild animals!"

"Sorry, Mama," they said, chastened. "We were just playing. It's boring in here."

"Well, too bad," said Cecile, helping Monique clean up the mess. "I'm sorry about that, Monique."

"Here, I'll keep them busy," Belle offered. She beckoned the two boys over. "Would you like to hear a story?"

They perked up instantly. "Okay!" Belle moved her chair over to a corner, and the boys sat down in front of her.

"All right," Belle began. "This story is called 'Jack and the Beanstalk.' There was once a little boy, just like you two, named Jack. He lived alone with his mother. But times were hard for them. They were out of money, and almost out of food."

The boys were immediately caught up in the story. Such a situation was not uncommon in a tiny village like this.

"The only thing they owned of any value was their cow. So Jack's mother told him to take the cow to the marketplace and sell her for a good price…"

The boys listened, enraptured, to the story, their eyes big as saucers. "That was great, Belle!" Renaud said when she finished.

"Do you know any more stories?" asked Raoul.

Belle laughed. "I know _lots _of stories! Do you know how?"

They shook their heads.

Belle leaned forward, as though telling them a big secret. "In my house, I have a big bookcase full of books. And do you know what's in all those books? Stories!"

"Really?" Raoul asked.

Belle nodded. "So any time I want a story, I just take out one of my books, and pick out whatever story I want! And I can read it all by myself – I don't have to _ask_ someone to tell me a story."

"Wow," breathed Renaud. "That must be great."

"It is," Belle agreed, smiling. "I'll tell you what: next week when we have our sewing circle, I'll bring a storybook to show you, and I'll read you some more good stories."

Cecile, listening as she sewed, smiled. "Ah, Belle, so _that's _why you read! To get stories to keep the little ones quiet! I always wondered."

Belle laughed. "Well, I have to be honest: I love stories just as much as your little ones do!"

"My mother used to tell me bedtime stories when I was little," Amelie offered.

"Mine did too," Belle said. "But my mother didn't just _tell_ them – she read them to me, from a book, and we would look at the pictures together. Even when I got older, we always read books together. It was something special we shared. Then, after she died…" Belle had to stop a moment, because she suddenly had a lump in her throat. She took a deep breath. "After she died, I missed her so much. But one thing that helped a little was that I could still read our stories. And when I read those stories, I could hear her voice in my mind, saying the words. I felt like she was there with me when I read."

Monique looked sympathetic. "I know what you mean," she said. "My mother died two years ago, when I was 17. We were very close. We always cooked dinner together every night, and we would talk. And now, whenever I'm cooking, I can almost hear her saying, 'That's right, Monique – just a tiny pinch of garlic! Perfect!' It does make me feel like she's with me."

Belle looked at her with some surprise. She honestly hadn't thought anyone in the village could relate to her in any way. "So you know how it is," she said. "I'm very sorry to hear about your mother, Monique. I didn't know that."

"Thank you. It was very sad, but I've accepted it. Unfortunately, that's life," Monique said with a sigh. "But I have to say, Jacques' mother has totally taken me under her wing – she adores me. The other day, when she congratulated me on my engagement, she confided in me that _she'd _been hinting to Jacques too! She kept telling him, 'A girl like that won't wait around forever! You'd better snatch her up before someone else does!'" Monique giggled. "Poor Jacques – between the two of us, he didn't stand a chance."

Belle smiled. "Well, I think he's very lucky to have you."

"Thanks!" Monique said.

Soon, the girls began to pack up and get ready to leave. "Next week at my house!" Amelie reminded them.

Renaud tugged on Belle's skirt. "Belle, will you remember to bring the storybook next week?"

"I promise," Belle said, smiling.

She said goodbye to the girls and went home, feeling cheerful.

_Author's note: FYI, all the sewing circle girls are from the "Belle" song in the movie. Monique is the one to whom the man on the wagon calls "How is your family?" She's also seen at the beginning of "The Mob Song." The other girls are in the large group of villagers at the end of the "Belle" song. Oh, and Monique's boyfriend Jacques is seen at the end of the Belle song too – he's that cute young guy with short black hair. (You know your BATB obsession is out of control when you start noticing and naming the villagers! LOL)_


	18. Snow Day

The next day, Belle woke up, looked out the window and gasped with surprise. It was only late October, but the cold snap in the weather had continued, and to Belle's delight, it had snowed overnight – a freak snowstorm, unusually early for the time of year. The village was blanketed with white, turning Molyneaux into a picturesque winter wonderland.

Belle was glad that the snow had held off till the farmers had gotten their crops in. Amelie had mentioned yesterday that her family had recently finished harvesting the crops, and that she and her mother were now keeping busy canning and storing their food supply for the winter. Although it was early, the beautiful white snow was not disrupting anyone's livelihood today.

Belle always loved the first snowfall of the season. It made her feel like a child again. She dressed warmly, pulled on her boots and her cloak, and hurried to the bookstore to share her enthusiasm with Hervé.

"Good morning, Monsieur Liseur! Good morning, Hervé!" she sang out gaily as she entered, her cheeks rosy from the cold.

"Bonjour, Belle! You're certainly in a good mood today," Monsieur Liseur said with a fatherly smile.

"I'm glad someone is," Hervé said ruefully. "I simply cannot abide this wintry weather! But as always, seeing you is enough to brighten any day!" he added, favoring Belle with a courtly bow.

"Thank you," Belle said, smiling. "Hervé, the weather's not so bad – it's a glorious sunny day! Come outside with me."

Hervé frowned in distaste. "Out in the snow? I had hoped to stay inside, where it is warm and comfortable."

"Oh, come on," Belle wheedled. "It's not _that _cold out. Wear a coat. It'll be fun."

Hervé smiled. "Well, far be it from me to refuse such a charming invitation." He pulled on his heavy winter coat. "Very well, I shall brave the elements on your behalf. But only for a little while."

"Great!" Belle said happily.

They went outside. Belle took a deep breath, enjoying the crisp, clean fresh air. It was a sunny day, cold but clear, without a trace of wind, and the snow sparkled in the sunlight like diamonds.

"We should go sledding!" Belle said impulsively.

Hervé stared at her in astonishment. "Sledding? Surely you jest!"

"Why not? It's fun," said Belle.

Hervé shrugged. "Personally, I don't fancy risking life and limb for the sake of barreling down a hill, then falling off into wet snow and getting soaked to the skin. I've never seen the appeal of it myself."

"Oh, all right," Belle said, disappointed. "Let's just take a walk, then."

As they strolled through the village, Belle suddenly heard shouts and laughter. She turned to see where the sound was coming from. At the top of a nearby hill, a few villagers had started an impromptu snowball fight. Gaston was among them, his big booming laugh ringing out as he quickly scooped up snowballs and hurled them with unerring accuracy. "You'll never defeat me!" he bragged to Francois and Claude.

"We'll see about that!" replied Francois, as he and Claude threw snowballs back at him, but with less success.

Belle had to smile as she watched Gaston. He was like an overgrown kid, full of fun and enthusiasm.

"No one throws snowballs like Gaston!" said LeFou loyally, standing behind him. LeFou occasionally helped out with a snowball of his own, but his main contribution seemed to be cheering Gaston on.

A few of the village children passed by. Seeing the game, they immediately raced up the hill to join in. "We want to be on Gaston's side!" they cried. All of the children in the village adored Gaston: he was so big and strong, like a giant, and he was always happy to show off his strength by scooping up a few of them and swinging them up and around through the air, which was a great thrill for them.

Gaston grinned as the children swarmed around them. "Sure, kids! Join the winning team!"

"Hey, no fair!" said Claude, laughing. "Gaston's a whole team all by himself! _We're _the ones who need help here!"

Belle remembered Gaston once saying that he wanted six or seven kids of his own. Watching him with the village children, she could easily picture him with his own brood. He'd be a fun sort of father, she thought, wrestling with his kids and tossing them around. And of course, they would love bragging to their friends that their papa was the biggest and strongest of all.

She suddenly realized that Hervé wasn't next to her. She looked around and saw him up ahead. Apparently he hadn't realized that she'd stopped, and had kept walking. She hurried to catch up to him, then paused, a mischievous glint in her eye. Quickly she scooped up a snowball and threw it at him. It hit him in the back of the head.

He turned to see her giggling. He frowned. "Why did you do that?" he asked, sounding offended.

Belle's smile faded. "Just for fun," she said, faltering. "Sorry."

Hervé ran his hand over his wet hair, looking unhappy. "I'm beginning to feel quite frigid. Would it be all right with you if we return to the house now?"

"All right," Belle said, chastened. She cast a longing backwards glance at the hill, where the snowball fight was still going on. Then she joined Hervé and walked with him back toward the house.

Up on the hill, Gaston turned to grab more snow, and caught sight of Belle down on the road, walking away with Hervé. He immediately forgot about the snowball fight and just watched her, feeling an ache in his heart. He missed her so much. He wished he could just run after her. But no, she was with that _other _guy now.

_But not for long, _he promised himself. He was going to work hard to memorize a poem for her – which hopefully wouldn't take more than a couple of weeks – and use it to impress her and win her back.

But it was so hard to be patient, seeing her with someone else. Did she have any idea how Gaston felt about her? Did she care?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden jolt of a snowball hitting the back of his head. "Wake up, sleepyhead!" crowed Francois.

With difficulty, Gaston forced his thoughts away from Belle and turned back to the game. "I'll get you for that!" he replied with a grin, scooping up an armful of snow.

Meanwhile, Belle and Hervé soon arrived at the bookseller's house. Once they were inside, Hervé's mood brightened immediately. "Here, let me take your coat," he said, removing it from Belle's shoulders and hanging it up. "You must be chilled. I'll start a fire and tell Mme. Cagnotte to make us some hot chocolate." He went to the fireplace to light a fire.

Belle sat down at the table, feeling a bit better. Hervé was a bit…well, stodgy, there was no denying it, but he was certainly solicitous. She cheered up further when Mme. Cagnotte came in with a tray of hot chocolate and some tea cakes. Hervé thanked her, then sat down across from Belle, beaming. "Now, isn't this much more agreeable than shivering outside?"

Belle smiled and bit into a tea cake. "Well, it _is_ very cozy." She would have enjoyed it much more after a day of playing out in the snow, but it _was _warm and comfortable, and the hot chocolate tasted good. And Hervé was in a better mood, she was glad to see. "So Hervé, tell me: what is your life like at the university? Do you like it there?"

"Oh, yes, very much," Hervé said. "I must say, I quite miss it. I never did find the country appealing. At the university, one is surrounded by intellectual discussions of the highest caliber. Although meeting you has certainly helped to fill the void!" he added, smiling.

"I've never been to a university. What is your typical day like there?" Belle asked with interest.

"Oh, it is most pleasant! I teach several classes, and it gives me deep satisfaction to know that I am passing on knowledge of great literature to the next generation of brilliant young minds," Hervé said.

"That must be wonderful," Belle said admiringly. "Knowing that you're making such a difference in people's lives, opening their eyes to new things...it must be very rewarding."

"Yes, immensely," Hervé agreed. "At the end of the day, I usually have dinner with a few of my colleagues, discussing lesson plans or current literary works. Then in the evening, I return to my flat, and read until bedtime."

"Oh. Do you ever go out and do other things?" Belle asked.

"On occasion," Hervé said. "On Saturdays I always go to the local bookstore and spend time choosing new books to read. Once in a while I visit a museum. And sometimes the university has an evening lecture series, or a faculty conference that I need to attend. But for the most part, I like having a regular, steady routine."

"I see." Belle sipped her hot chocolate. It sounded like a pleasant life, if a bit quiet. She had assumed that living in a large city would be thrilling and exciting, but in its own way, Hervé's life sounded almost as routine and predictable as her own…although in his case, it seemed to be by choice.

But teaching literature certainly sounded like a wonderfully gratifying occupation; she truly envied him for that. She wished she could do something with _her_ life that was as fulfilling. And it must be nice to have access to much bigger bookstores than the one in Molyneaux.

"And what of you, Belle?" Hervé asked. "What does an exceptionally intelligent young woman like yourself find to do in a provincial village like this?"

Belle smiled. "Not much," she admitted. "I do housework, I read books…Although yesterday, I went to a sewing circle. That was something different."

"A sewing circle?" Hervé was surprised. "You like to sew?"

"No, not really," Belle said. "But some girls from the village get together every week to do their sewing and talk, and one of them invited me."

"What on earth do such people talk about?" Hervé asked.

Belle shrugged. "Men, mostly!" she said with a laugh. "But also, just…life, I guess. Who's getting married, who's having a baby, whose mother is ill, how someone's farm is doing, how someone's husband's business is getting on…"

"Oh," Hervé said sympathetically. "Such mundane, trivial conversation must have been very tedious for someone of your intellectual caliber."

"No, it was all right," Belle said thoughtfully. "It's funny…I used to think that kind of talk _would_ be boring. I was always eager to find someone to talk about books with! Which I do love doing, of course, as you know. But all those 'trivial' things…well, that's what life _is,_ isn't it? I mean, Monique is getting married – that's a truly momentous, life-changing event for her. Of course she wants to talk about it. Amelie's family's farm had trouble because of the drought last summer; for a while they didn't know if they were going to have enough food to get through the winter. What could be more important than that? These are _real _things - things that affect people's lives."

"Well, that is true, particularly for rural, agrarian folk whose livelihood depends on the weather," Hervé acknowledged. "And of course, one must preserve the social amenities. Etiquette does demand an initial exchange of pleasantries and a modicum of so-called small talk. However, once those obligatory niceties are out of the way, I personally prefer that the conversation move to a higher intellectual plane. To me, discussing literature is the most delightful kind of conversation one can have."

She laughed. "Well, I can't argue with that! I do love talking about books." She looked at him thoughtfully. "Speaking of talking about books…Hervé, there's something I've been wondering."

"Oh? What is that?" Hervé asked.

"Why exactly do you read?"

Hervé looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's something I'd never really thought about, but watching you with your notes, it occurred to me that people might read for different reasons – that they can get different things out of it," Belle explained. "Like me: I've always wished I had more adventure and excitement in my life. I think I mentioned that to you before – how I wished I could live in a world of magic, and visit far-off places, and have thrilling adventures and do exciting things. Since I don't have enough of that in my real life, I read books to try to get that feeling. But I think the appeal of books is different for you…am I right?"

Hervé thought about that. "What an intriguing question! Truthfully, I've never pondered it before. Why I read…" He took a sip of hot chocolate. "I would say I admire the author's craft: the well-chosen turn of phrase, the artistic use of language, the clever reference. I also like the way all the pieces of a book fit together, like a puzzle - the way all the threads of the story are woven into a seamless whole, every character and plot point playing an important part, and every bit significant and meaningful, and often symbolic. Literature is so much clearer and tidier than life, don't you agree?"

Belle frowned in confusion. "Tidier? What do you mean?"

"In books, every incident has a purpose, every character plays a distinct role," Hervé explained. "Take someone like your Gaston, for example – a violent, selfish individual who threatens others to get what he wants. In a work of fiction, he would surely be the villain of the piece, and would ultimately meet a fitting and just fate, bringing the tale to a satisfying conclusion. In real life, however, such a man is the most popular and respected citizen in town, his barbaric behavior unchecked by any disapproval– apart from yours, of course," he amended.

"He's not as bad as _that,"_ Belle defended him.

Hervé raised an eyebrow. "Well, you know him better than I. But my encounters with him have left me with a less than favorable impression, I must say. My uncle concurs with this opinion."

Belle sighed. "I know," she acknowledged. "And I honestly don't blame you. I can understand how you feel about him, after he threatened you – although he did apologize, remember. But real people aren't as black and white as characters in books, Hervé. I mean, of course there are murderers and criminals, and they should be punished for their crimes. And on the other hand, there are people who devote their entire lives to charity and good works. But I think most people fall somewhere in between – they're shades of gray. You can't put labels on them so easily, like you can with literary characters: protagonist, antagonist, and all that. People are more complicated than that."

"Precisely my point!" Hervé said. "You can never understand people the way you can a fictional character. In a novel, even the most complex character's life, emotions, and even inner thoughts are laid out for you right there on the page. One can read everything there is to know about the character, and analyze why he acts the way he does. And if it's a well-written work, it all fits together in a satisfying way. But with real people…well, their actions are often illogical and inexplicable. And many situations in life never do have a satisfactory resolution.

"That is why I like the neatness of a well-written literary work: there, every incident has a specific purpose, and advances the plot in a logical and meaningful way, and it all ties together in the end. Whereas real life is so…so chaotic and random. Take, for example, today's unexpected snowfall. One minute the weather is clear, typical for fall; then suddenly, out of the blue, it's freezing cold and wet, most disagreeable. Life is unpredictable, full of unexpected, totally random occurrences."

"But that's what I _like_ about it!" Belle protested. "Unexpected surprises, never knowing what will happen next, what's around the next corner…I love that." She thought of her outing with Gaston in the forest – the exhilaration of soaring over the gorge on horseback, the fearful thrill of seeing wolves up close… That day had been full of surprises, and it had been one of the most exciting and memorable days of her life.

Hervé smiled. "Well, I must respectfully agree to disagree, then," he said amiably. "Personally, I detest surprises, of all kinds. I like a peaceful, orderly, well-regulated life, with everything arranged and in its place."

"But surely _some _surprises are pleasant, aren't they?" Belle persisted. "Like me meeting you – that was a nice surprise, wasn't it?"

"That certainly _was _a delightful turn of events, I must concur!" Hervé agreed. "But…not entirely unexpected, I have to confess."

"What do you mean?" Belle asked.

"Well, my uncle and I correspond regularly. He always likes to hear about my life and career and so forth, and how I'm getting on. I had told him that although my career is progressing very well, I do find my life lacking in one aspect."

Belle looked at him in confusion. "I don't follow you."

Hervé looked sheepish. "I mean…in the matrimonial sense," he explained, a bit embarrassed. "As I get older, I find myself increasingly dissatisfied with my bachelor status. I have often confided to my uncle my wish to meet a young woman of great intellect, who shares my affinity for fine literature. He wrote to me and told me about you, and suggested that it might be very rewarding, and mutually beneficial, if we should meet. I was initially hesitant to make such a long journey – as I have told you, I am not fond of the country. But he spoke of you in such glowing terms that I must confess that I was intrigued, and became quite curious to meet this paragon of whom he spoke."

Belle was taken aback. "Really? I-I didn't know that. When did he write to you?"

"Well, the letter was dated September 10, but it took a while for me to receive it, and then I had to make arrangements for the journey itself, which I must say took some doing. Molyneaux is quite far off the beaten path, as you know!" Hervé said. "Then, simply traveling here from Orlèans took over a week. So it took somewhat longer than anticipated for me to arrive."

September 10…that was the day she had broken off her friendship with Gaston, telling him that she couldn't see him at all anymore, Belle remembered. She recalled her conversation with Monsieur Liseur at the time. She had felt that it wasn't fair for her to stay friends with Gaston, knowing that he wanted to marry her and that she could not fulfill that wish. She had thought then that a clean break was best. Monsieur Liseur had agreed.

Then he had said, "If there was an educated, intelligent, literate young man around for you to spend time with, you wouldn't give Gaston a second thought." She had acknowledged that that was possible, but added that it didn't matter, since she would never meet a man like that in Molyneaux anyway. The bookseller had looked thoughtful and said, "Unless…" That must have been when he got the idea, she realized. He had probably written to Hervé that very night.

She wasn't sure how she felt about it, though. On the one hand, it was certainly considerate of the bookseller to want to introduce her to someone he thought she might like, since she wasn't seeing Gaston at that time. On the other hand…the idea that Hervé had been dragged here all the way from Orlèans solely for the purpose of meeting her, and potentially making her his wife, made her feel very uncomfortable and put her on the spot. Hervé had gone to a lot of time, trouble and effort to come here, and he was spending a month or more in the tiny village simply to get to know her. Would he feel angry and cheated if nothing substantial came of it?

Seeing her expression, Hervé seemed to instantly know what she was thinking. "Oh, Belle, please do not misunderstand me," he said hastily. "I assure you, I did not mean to cause you any discomfort or uneasiness! I probably should not have told you this. As I said, my uncle told me about you, and the fact that he holds you in such high esteem made me very interested in making your acquaintance. That is all. I absolutely did _not _mean to imply any obligation at all on your part! I would never make such a presumption, or take any liberties. Believe me, Belle, it has been a rare treat simply to meet a woman with such intelligence, insight and perspicacity as you have shown. Because of you, I have enjoyed my visit here immensely, regardless of what may happen. If I return to Orlèans with nothing more than the memory of our excellent literary discussions, I shall consider my time here more than well spent, I assure you."

Belle was relieved. Hervé was so unfailingly polite. "Thank you, Hervé, hearing that does make me feel better. I didn't know what you expected."

"I expect nothing," Hervé assured her. "And I am very glad to hear that I was able to put you at ease."

He dabbed at his lips with a napkin as Mme. Cagnotte came in. "Thank you, Mme. Cagnotte, that was delicious," he said as she cleared away the dishes. He rubbed his hands in anticipation. "Now, Belle, let us each do some reading! What do you say?"

"All right," said Belle, smiling. She glanced out the window wistfully one last time at the snowy day, then settled on the couch with a book.

O o o o o o

Gaston approached the poetry book with dread, as if it were a snake that might bite him.

When he had gotten it two days ago, he had immediately taken it home, ready to learn a poem to impress Belle. He had flipped through the book, stopping at poems at random and trying to read them, but it had been so much harder than he had expected. The poems used such big, strange words! And even the ones with short words made no sense. After an hour, his head was pounding, and he was still no closer to picking a poem for Belle. In frustration, he had thrown the book against the wall and gone to the tavern for the rest of the evening.

But seeing Belle with that guy today, walking along like a happy couple, he knew he couldn't put it off any longer. If he wanted to win Belle, he _had _to start learning a poem, and right now.

Despite the bookseller's warning, he had no intention of giving up. He loved Belle, it was as simple as that, and there was no way he was going to just stand there and watch her walk out of his life without trying his hardest to get her back. And if he _did _win her, he would do everything in his power to make her happy.

But the bookseller's long list of Hervé's advantages had shaken him up. When it came to impressing Belle, that namby-pamby milksop was going to be much tougher competition than he had realized. Gaston would have to work harder than he ever had in his life if he wanted to win Belle's heart.

Which meant that he had no choice but to face the dreaded poetry. Resolutely, he picked the book up off the floor and sat down at the table, determined to find something he could read.

He started at the beginning this time, and made a discovery: there was a page at the front called "Contents", which listed all the poems, and they were divided into sections, according to what the poems were about. And there was actually a section called "Love Poems"! Perfect!

With renewed enthusiasm, he turned to that section. Surely a love poem would make Belle melt. Now, which one should he choose…

Ah! Here was one that even had "Love" in the title! That was good! He tried to read the title. "Love's Al…Al…" He stopped and squinted at the word. A L C H E M Y. Gaston frowned. For the life of him, he could not figure out how to pronounce it, let alone what it might mean. Maybe the rest of the poem was easier? He skimmed it. The first few lines weren't too bad, but then the poet started throwing in big words that Gaston _knew_ he would never figure out: "imposture," "chemic," "medicinal," "odoriferous," "minstrelsy"…

No. As much as he wanted to impress Belle, he knew he was out of his league. He had to find something he could handle.

Here was another one…Gaston started to read aloud, slowly and haltingly. "Was…this…the…face…that…l-l-l…" He stopped. That was a hard word. He studied it. "Laun….launched!" _Got it!_ he thought triumphantly. He went on. "A thou-…thousand…ships…and…burnt…the…topless…towers…of…Il-Il-Ilium."

Whew! He'd gotten through two lines. But there was so much more! He went back and read the first two lines again. He frowned. A face that launched ships and burned towers? That didn't make any sense. He looked over the rest of it, and grimaced. Sure enough, there were big strange words all over the place: "Wittenburg," "Menelaus," "Semele," "Arethusa," "azur'd." He noticed the name "Achilles" in the middle – he recognized that one from the cover of the Achilles book Belle had once started to read to him – but it wasn't enough to make it manageable.

Frustrated, he closed the book. If only Belle were here, she could explain it all to him. Better still, if she were here, they could _forget _all about the stupid poetry book and she could read him one of her stories instead – something really good, with brave strong heroes fighting fierce monsters, and lots of action and adventure and danger. Those stories were fun, not like these confusing poems. He loved to hear her read aloud; her voice was so expressive that he felt like he was really _there, _in the story. He _was_ Hercules, killing the lion with his bare hands, or the clever tailor, bragging and exaggerating his feats to make everyone admire him.

It suddenly occurred to him that if he lost Belle, not only would he lose her beauty, and her interesting ideas, and her fiery spirit, and her love of adventure…he would lose her stories, too. It wasn't fair. Hervé had all the stories he wanted – he'd read hundreds of books, and would read hundreds more. He'd read more books than Belle had! He didn't need her like Gaston did.

But the only way Gaston could win her was to learn a poem to impress her. And he had to learn it _perfectly, _by heart, and recite it to Belle from memory, without any mistakes. With a sigh, he opened the book again. Surely there was _one _poem that wasn't too difficult…

Then a word caught his eye. "Hunt." That was a word he knew well! He read the title of the poem: "Like As A Huntsman" by Edmund Spenser. That sounded promising. Eagerly, he looked over the poem. He was immediately able to pick out a few words he recognized and liked: "huntsman," "game," "hounds," "prey," "deer," "beast." And the other words didn't look too hard – there were no huge strange ones, just normal words.

This was the one – the poem he would learn for Belle.

He wondered why it was in the "Love Poems" section. The poem looked to be all about hunting – a subject near and dear to his heart, certainly, but a strange thing to put in with love poems. Maybe someone had put it there by mistake.

But it didn't matter. It was a poem, that was the important thing, and he was going to learn it or die trying. He settled down to read.

O o o o o o


	19. If You Wanna Know If He Loves You So

_"For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo." _

Sitting on her couch, Belle closed the book with a sad but satisfied sigh. The story of doomed love was so romantic and so moving. She was eager to talk about it to someone and share her feelings about it.

And she _could!_ she realized, her face lighting up. She now actually _knew_ someone who loved books and was knowledgeable about Shakespeare! She hurried to the bookstore, where the bookseller informed her that Hervé was at the house. She ran around the corner and knocked on the door.

Mme. Cagnotte opened the door. "Oh, mademoiselle! Monsieur Hervé is in the sitting room. Come right in."

Hervé rose to his feet immediately when she entered, his face brightening. "Belle! What a pleasant surprise. How good it is to see you! Would you like some tea?"

"Maybe later," Belle said. "I just had to tell you that I just read _Romeo and Juliet, _and I _loved _it!" She sighed happily as she sat down on the couch. "So romantic, but so sad at the end! I was in tears! But in a good way."

Hervé sat next to her. "I'm delighted to hear that you are enjoying the book I gave you! Although I must confess that personally, I find _Romeo and Juliet _among the least satisfying of Shakespeare's works."

"Oh, really? Why?" Belle said, interested. She didn't mind him having a different opinion – she was eager for a good discussion about the play. "Do you think the ending was too sad, the fact that they killed themselves?"

Hervé chuckled. "Hardly! It's a tragedy, so one must assume going in that the main characters will die. Shakespeare even tells us that in the prologue: 'A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life.' It's not unexpected."

"Oh, of course," Belle said. She thought a moment. "Is it that you think it sends a bad message, that suicide is glamorous and romantic? I don't believe myself that suicide is _ever_ the right answer; no matter what happens in life, we need to have faith, and be strong. But still…the idea of a love _so_ strong and passionate and all-encompassing that you would do _anything_ for the other person, that the thought of losing them is so unbearable, you feel you can't live without them…it _is _very romantic, you have to admit." She smiled, caught up in the idea.

"Yes, that overblown notion of love is certainly very common in literature, although I highly doubt it has any counterpart in real life," Hervé said dismissively. "But to answer your question: no, I don't have any complaint about suicide in a play. I see drama and literature purely as works of art. I don't look to them for advice on real-life situations."

"Oh." Belle thought again. "Then…do you feel that what Romeo and Juliet had wasn't really true love? I can understand that viewpoint. After all, Romeo did think he was in love with Rosaline at first…then he saw Juliet and immediately decided he was in love with _her, _before he even spoke to her or got to know her."

"That's certainly true," Hervé agreed. "But again, the concept of 'true love' or 'love at first sight' is an accepted convention in literature, so I'm able to suspend disbelief when judging a fictional work."

"Okay. In that case…I give up!" Belle said with a laugh. "Tell me why you don't like the play. I'm all ears."

"My criticism is simply that it is a less mature, less sophisticated work than Shakespeare's later, great tragedies," Hervé explained. "_Romeo and Juliet _is a transitional play in Shakespeare's career. He was moving from the genre of comedy to tragedy…yet although _Romeo and Juliet _is classified as a tragedy, it inappropriately includes the hallmark elements of his earlier comedies: the foolish and ignorant parental generation, the instant attraction of the young lovers, the quick surface life of street fights, masked balls and comic servants.This mix of styles ultimately mars the play, exposing the immaturity of the playwright. The heroes of the play must contend with external forces that impede their relationship, but, unlike the great tragic heroes, they are devoid of the inner struggle that makes for great tragedy."

"Oh, I see," Belle said, feeling deflated. Hervé's knowledge was interesting, as always, but it wasn't what she really wanted to talk about right now.

"Hervé," she began, hoping to get back on track. "That's fascinating, the way that Shakespeare's style evolved over time. I didn't know that. But…" She hesitated, trying to find the right words.

"But what?" asked Hervé

"I do like intellectual analysis, don't get me wrong. I've enjoyed our discussions very much. But above all, don't you think the most important thing is that a good book should touch the heart?"

"The heart?" Herve repeated, puzzled. "I don't quite follow you. Can you clarify that?"

"Yes," Belle said, glad to express her point of view. "What I mean is, when I finish a great book for the first time, what I want to talk about most is the story itself: what I would do in that situation, whether the characters are likable people, what parts of the story made me laugh or cry. To me, that's what makes a book special – how it makes you feel, what it makes you think about, how it takes you out of your own life into the world of the story. Analyzing the author's style or his literary techniques... it's very interesting, definitely, but to me that's just the icing on the cake. Not the cake itself."

Hervé thought about that. "Well, it is certainly true that the most enduring works of literature contain timeless themes and universal human situations, and are therefore likely to evoke an emotional response in the reader. This is of course what gives them widespread appeal. However, while a literary work may have personal meaning to readers, such a reaction is purely subjective, is it not?"

Belle frowned. "Well, yes. But isn't that the point? That a good book can mean different things to different people?"

"That may be why particular people _enjoy _a book, certainly, but it is not germane to a critical analysis of the work," Hervé replied. "Now, please don't misunderstand me, Belle - I do very much enjoy listening to your own comments about books, however you may choose to express yourself! I am always interested in your point of view. But first and foremost, I am a scholar. So for myself, when discussing a particular text, just as in teaching my classes, I focus solely on the _intrinsic_ characteristics of the work, the inherent elements.

"For example, if a student were writing an essay on _Romeo and Juliet,_ I would expect an objective analysis of the play, exploring the major themes, or the stylistic elements, or Shakespeare's use of language, or as I mentioned earlier, the place the work holds in Shakespeare's oeuvre. If instead, the student wrote an essay saying, 'I like _Romeo and Juliet_ because it reminds me of the time when I was attracted to a girl, but her parents didn't like me,' I would have to fail him, would I not? Although it may indeed be true that the characters' situation reminds him of his own, that fact is relevant only to him. It has no place in a true study of the work."

Belle looked at Hervé, feeling frustrated. He was right, of course…yet to her, the entire _point _of reading was to feel an emotional connection to the story and characters. That was what made reading fun and worthwhile.

She suddenly remembered their discussion of _Don Quixote _on the night she had come to dinnerAt the time, she had been dazzled and impressed by Hervé's analysis of Cervantes's narrative style. It was all information that she didn't know, and she was eager to absorb it. But now, looking back, she realized that while Hervé had focused solely on the _way _Cervantes told the story - his choice of words and narrative structure - _she_ had talked about what the story _meant _to her: how she identified with Don Quixote, how the story resonated with her emotionally, how she saw in it parallels to her own life and even learned a valuable lesson from it. Books were very personal to her, whereas Hervé seemed to look at them in an almost detached way.

Hervé paused. "Belle?" he asked in concern. "Are you feeling unwell?"

Belle focused on him. "I'm fine, sorry!" she assured him.

She shook herself mentally. What was _wrong _with her? This was what she had always wanted: a man who loved reading and would happily discuss books with her for hours. Was she _so _picky and hard to please that she was now finding fault with the _way _he talked about books? It was ridiculous! True, he didn't look at books in exactly the same way she did, but that was hardly a crime. The important thing was that he _did _love to read and talk about books – that was what she had always dreamed of. And yes, he was a bit conservative in his habits, and not particularly adventurous…but no one was perfect. She reminded herself that he was a good, decent man, unfailingly polite and respectful, and she should appreciate that. In fact, she should count herself incredibly lucky that such an intelligent and literate man had come to Molyneaux, as if in answer to her wishes, and that he was interested in _her. _Chiding herself for her foolish dissatisfaction, she turned to him, forcing herself to pay attention.

"This is certainly an intriguing discussion!" Hervé said. "As always, Belle, you offer a thought-provoking point of view. But I must say, I'm a bit thirsty – I think I would like that tea now," he said. "Will you join me, Belle?"

"All right," Belle said.

Hervé smiled. "Good. I'll just pop in and ask Mme. Cagnotte to make some, and then I'll clear off this table so we'll have room." He went into the kitchen to find the housekeeper.

Belle went over to the table, cluttered with novels, reference books and papers. Hervé was so hospitable, the least she could do was help out a little, she thought. She put the books back in the bookcase, then stacked the papers neatly on one side of the table.

Hervé returned. "Tea will be ready in a jiffy," he said cheerfully. Then he saw the almost-empty table and stopped short. "Where are my books?" he asked in alarm.

"I just cleared the table so we'd have room for the tea," Belle explained. "I put the books back in the bookcase."

"Oh, I see." Hervé went to look at the bookcase, and frowned. "That was very kind of you, Belle, but…I prefer my books arranged in a particular order," he said, taking them out and re-organizing them. "I have them sorted alphabetically by author, and then chronologically within each author's section. And I keep fiction, non-fiction, and reference books on different shelves."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Belle said. "I didn't know."

"It's quite all right," Hervé assured her. He took a step back and surveyed the bookcase with satisfaction. "There! Perfect."

Mme. Cagnotte came in with the tea. "Thank you," Hervé told her as he and Belle sat down at the table. He poured a cup for each of them, then added cream and sugar to his own and took a few sips. "Lovely! Now, Belle, let us continue discussing Shakespeare."

"Yes," Belle said, although she felt much less enthusiastic about it than she had when she had arrived. But she just took a sip of tea and said politely, "Go ahead, Hervé, continue what you were saying."

After Hervé finished lecturing on Shakespeare, they read books separately for a while. Then Hervé walked her home. At her doorstep, he cleared his throat, as though he had something important to say. "Belle, I would like to ask you something. However, as I have said, I do not mean to be presumptuous or ever make you feel uncomfortable. So please, do feel entirely free to decline my request, with no offense on either side."

"All right…what is it?" Belle asked, her curiosity piqued. What could he possibly have in mind?

Hervé took a deep breath. "Given that we have been courting for a while, would you consider it improper of me to…kiss you?"

"Kiss me?" Belle echoed. She hadn't even thought of that. She felt confused, unsure. _Did _she want him to kiss her? Was she supposed to? She had never been kissed before, and wasn't sure of the right way to act.

He was right, though…he had been calling on her for a few weeks now. A kiss probably _was _expected at this point. Although it felt strange to have someone _ask _to kiss her, in such a formal way.

He was watching her expectantly. "I…I guess it would be all right," she said awkwardly.

Hervé smiled. "I am delighted to hear it." He stepped toward her and leaned forward. Then he touched his lips briefly to her own - a quick, dry peck - and stepped back.

It was a bit…anticlimactic, somehow. In all the stories she had read, the first kiss was always so romantic - even magical, with the power to break a spell. She didn't know what she had expected, but something…more than this.

Hervé seemed pleased, however. "Thank you, Belle. That was most agreeable," he said, beaming. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"All right. Good night," Belle said, watching him go.

She stood there a moment, thinking. Her first kiss…

She suddenly remembered the night of the dance, when Gaston had taken her home, and for a moment she had thought that _he_ was going to kiss her. He had leaned toward her, and her breath had caught in her throat, her heart pounding so hard she had thought he must hear it. It had been a thrilling moment, her emotions a turmoil of excitement, apprehension and anticipation. So different from Hervé's brisk, businesslike arrangement.

If Gaston _had_ kissed her that night, would it have felt the same as Hervé's kiss? She suspected that it wouldn't.

She thought of the way Hervé had asked so formally if he could kiss her. That was the way he was, she knew – always unfailingly polite. Which was a _good _thing, she reminded herself. He would never be pushy, like Gaston.

Although…Gaston really _hadn't _been pushy in a very long time, she had to admit. In fact, he hadn't even _spoken _to her since the day she had made him apologize to Hervé. She had told him then that she was going to continue seeing Hervé whether he liked it or not, and had asked him to respect her decision. Apparently, he had taken her at her word. Which waswhat she had wanted, but…he hadn't even come _near_ her since then. Not even a "hello." He must feel that since she had chosen Hervé, things were over between them, and he wanted nothing more to do with her.

It was true that she had wanted him to accept the fact that she was seeing Hervé and not cause any more trouble, so she couldn't very well complain now that he was following her wishes. But the thought that Gaston might actually be completely _gone _from her life, forever, was unsettling. She was suddenly overcome with a sense of loss, feeling bereft, as if she'd been abandoned.

But she did have Hervé, after all, she reminded herself. An intelligent, educated man who loved books – just what she'd always wanted. She should be happy. She _was _happy, she told herself firmly, and went in the house to make dinner for her father.

O o o o o o o o o oo o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

A few days later, Belle opened her door to see Monique, Josette, Amelie, Cecile and her two boys. She smiled. "Right on time! Come on in!" Belle said, standing aside to let them pass. It was her turn to host the weekly sewing circle.

Renaud and Raoul rushed in first. They stopped short when they saw the bookcase full of books. "Wow," Renaud said. "Is this where all the stories are?"

Belle smiled. "Yes, that's where they are." She had brought a storybook with her the last time she'd been to the sewing circle, but this was the first time they were visiting Belle's home and seeing the whole collection. She took a book down to show them. "Here, this is a good one."

"Read it to us, please?" Raoul said.

"Of course," Belle said, sitting in a chair and pulling them onto her lap.

"Boys!" Cecile said. "Just _one _book, and then you leave Mademoiselle Belle alone, hear? She's supposed to be spending time with _us!"_

Belle laughed. "I feel so popular! Everyone wants to be with me."

Monique grinned. "Well, we want to hear the latest about Hervé! We need some new romantic gossip to talk about!"

Belle's smile faded. "Yes…Hervé…"

The girls looked at each other. "Is there a problem?" Amelie asked.

"I don't know…sort of…maybe…" Belle said.

The boys shifted impatiently. "Belle, please? Story first?" Renaud said.

"All right. I did promise." She read them a story, and they listened with rapt attention.

After the story, Raoul asked shyly, "Belle…could you teach me to read like you do?"

"Ooh, me too!" Renaud said eagerly. "I want to read stories too!"

"Of course," Belle said, delighted by the idea. "I'd love to teach you! If your mother doesn't mind?"

Cecile shrugged. "It's fine with me. Anything to keep them quiet while I'm doing housework!" she said. "But not _now, _boys. Another day. Right now Belle has to come over here and have some grown-up talk, okay?"

Belle stood up and gave the boys the book to look at. "Why don't you look at the pictures, and make up your own story about them?"

"Okay!" they said, looking at the book eagerly.

Monique patted the couch next to her. "Okay, Belle, let's hear it. What's going on with Hervé? Is he not treating you well?"

Belle sat down, grateful to have other women to confide in. "No, it's not that. He's very polite, and he always pulls out my chair for me, and takes my coat, and offers me tea and things like that. He's a perfect gentleman."

"That all sounds good," Cecile said. "So what's the problem?"

"It's hard to explain," Belle said. "He's just so…so set in his ways, I guess. He does like to read, but not the same way I do…" She stopped, realizing that they wouldn't relate to the concept of reading a "different way," since they themselves didn't read. She went on with a different angle. "And he _only _likes to read, nothing else. I mean, I love books, you all know that, but I like to do other things too! But he's so unwilling to try anything new. Remember the snowstorm we had a few weeks ago? Everyone else was out playing in the snow, throwing snowballs and all. But Hervé didn't want to go outside at all. I finally got him to take a walk, and all he did was complain, saying it was too cold and he wanted to go back inside."

The other girls giggled at that. "He's not very manly, huh?" Josette said.

"Well, it's not exactly _that,"_ Belle said defensively. "I don't think every man necessarily has to be strong or 'manly' exactly..."

"I agree," Amelie said. "Don't listen to them, Belle. They thought I was crazy for liking LeFou too. But it's not always about looks, or being strong. It's about finding the person who's right for _you_."

"That's true," Belle said, smiling.

Amelie turned to the others. "Hervé likes books, and Belle does too," she pointed out. "What other guy in the village likes books?"

"That _is _a good point," Cecile acknowledged.

Amelie nodded. "Exactly." She smiled, thinking of LeFou. "And maybe he makes her feel special - like she's the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the whole world, and he's so glad just to be with her, and he'd do anything to make her happy. Maybe he makes her feel loved, and needed."

Belle's smile faded a little. She couldn't in all honesty say Hervé made her feel like _that. _He did admire her, she knew that much. He was always telling her how refreshing it was to meet a woman of such high intelligence. And he always seemed pleased to see her, and was always solicitous, offering her tea and such. But the level of passion and adoration Amelie was talking about…that wasn't really Hervé, she had to admit.

"Okay," Monique was saying. "So, he likes books, good; he treats you like a gentleman, also good. But he doesn't like snow. Maybe we can work on that."

Belle had to giggle at the way Monique said that, as though Hervé was a group project. "Yes, that's about it," she said. "He's a perfectly nice man - very intelligent, very decent, very polite and respectful. But I just wish he'd loosen up a little, you know? I wish he would get out sometimes, have some fun, be willing to try other things aside from reading."

The girls thought about that, trying to come up with advice. Then Monique snapped her fingers. "The fair!"

The other girls nodded eagerly. "That's a great idea!" Amelie said.

"What fair?" Belle asked in confusion.

"You don't know?" Monique said in surprise. "Oh, that's right, you missed the sewing circle last week because your father wasn't feeling well. That's when we were talking about it. You see, every year, the first week of November, there's a big fair in Clermont-Ferrand—"

"It's _so_ much fun!" Amelie chimed in. "There's music, and food, and jugglers, and a puppet show, and all kinds of contests and prizes: the biggest pumpkin, the best pie…"

"There's even a tent with inventions," Cecile recalled. "That would be great for your father, Belle! Usually it's just silly novelties to entertain people, mechanical toys and things like that, but your father's invention is really useful! I bet a lot of people would be interested in it. And there's even a prize for the best invention."

"That sounds wonderful!" Belle said eagerly. "Papa would love a chance to show his invention to people."

Josette piped up eagerly. "And the _men!" _she said with a dreamy sigh. "So many men, they come from miles around. At the fair, they all get to show off their target shooting, and wrestling, and weight-lifting…all kinds of contests. My favorite is the contest to catch a greased pig, because they have to take their shirts off for that one." She winked.

"Josette!" Cecile chided her affectionately.

Josette grinned. "Well, you gals are all matched up already! But I'm still shopping. I have to inspect the merchandise, don't I?" The girls all laughed.

"_Anyway," _Monique went on. "It's really a lot of fun. But when we had that sudden snowstorm a few weeks ago, we all thought we were getting an early winter, and that they'd have to cancel the fair this year. They can't have it if the weather's bad or the roads are unpassable – people have to be able to travel to get there. But then, luckily, that cold snap passed, and the snow melted, and it's been nice and clear since. So last week, we found out that the fair is still on! It's this Friday, the day after tomorrow. So that would be a great thing to bring Hervé too! You could get him out a little, show him a good time."

"You're right!" Belle said, getting enthusiastic. Maybe Hervé did have the potential to break out of his mold. After all, people were able to change, to grow, to see things in a new way – she knew that from personal experience. This fair was a perfect opportunity to get Hervé outside, away from his books, and show him how to have fun and loosen up a bit. Maybe there was hope for this relationship yet.

"Thanks, girls," she said gratefully. "I think this is just what Hervé needs."

"Glad we could help," Monique said, smiling.

Cecile added, "Sometimes you just have to _show_ these men what you need to make you happy. Because goodness knows, they'll never figure it out on their own!" She shook her head in amusement. "Hopeless, the lot of 'em."

"But _so _cute sometimes," Josette added, smiling.

Cecile nodded. "Yes, it's true. I'll keep my Emile, muddy boots and all," she said fondly.

Belle went to get the girls some refreshments, and the talk turned to other topics. It was a pleasant afternoon. When they left, Belle's spirits were higher than they had been in a long time. Tomorrow she would tell Hervé all about the fair, and then things would change. She couldn't wait.


	20. The Things We Do For Love

The next day, Belle went to the bookstore. "Hello, Monsieur Liseur, is Hervé here?"

"No, he's back at the house, working on the book he's been writing," the bookseller replied.

"Thanks!" Belle said, turning to go.

"Oh, Belle, wait!" Monsieur Liseur said. "If you're going to see Hervé, will you give him this?" He handed her a book. "This is an important reference work he needs. He ordered it a while ago, but it just came in."

"Of course, I'll give it to him," Belle said, putting it into her basket.

"Thank you, Belle, that saves me having to run around the corner," the bookseller said with a smile. "How are things going with you and Hervé, by the way?"

Belle hesitated, not sure what to say. "Well…he's a brilliant man," she said. "And he knows so much about literature! I'm certainly learning a lot from him."

"I'm very glad to hear it," Monsieur Liseur said, smiling.

"But…he _is _a bit…well…conservative, don't you think?" Belle said, trying to be diplomatic. "A bit set in his ways?"

"Perhaps, but that can be a good thing, don't you think?" Monsieur Liseur said encouragingly. "He's a steady, solid man, someone you can count on. He's not impulsive, not reckless, not prone to rash and unwise actions." _Unlike certain other men I could mention…_ But he didn't voice the unspoken thought.

"Well, that's certainly true," Belle agreed. She decided to drop the subject. Although she had often confided in the bookseller in the past, she also didn't want to offend him by saying something negative about his nephew, especially when he'd gone to so much trouble to bring Hervé here.

And besides, Hervé might very well be able to loosen up a little, given the chance, she reminded herself. She just needed to get him out and show him how to have fun. Maybe that was all he needed.

That reminded her that she hadn't even told him about the fair yet. Quickly, she said goodbye to the bookseller and eagerly ran around the corner to the house. She knocked on the door, full of anticipation. Mme. Cagnotte let her in, and she went into the sitting room, where Hervé was at the table writing.

"Hervé!" Belle said with a smile. "Guess where we're going tomorrow!"

"Where?" Hervé asked, puzzled.

"To a fair!" Belle said triumphantly.

Hervé frowned. "A fair?"

"Yes!" Belle sat down on the couch, beaming. "It's a big country fair in Clermont-Ferrand, just a few miles from here. It's going to be so much fun! There'll be music, and food, and puppet shows and jugglers, and all kinds of contests—"

"Ah, I see. Well, I hope you'll have a very good time!" Hervé said politely. "I assume you're going with your father?"

Belle frowned. "Well, yes, my father is going, but I hoped _you _would come too."

"Me?" Hervé looked startled. "Thank you for the invitation, Belle – as always, you are most considerate. But a country fair is really _not_ my cup of tea."

"Why not?" Belle asked, disappointed. "It will be fun."

"Well, that's a matter of opinion," Hervé said. "Such a fair is certain to be very crowded and noisy and dirty - throngs of people jostling around, men overindulging in alcohol, malodorous livestock leaving their droppings everywhere…" He shuddered. "And I really have no interest in witnessing competitions to determine the fattest pig, or to see who can prove he is the most gluttonous by downing the greatest number of blueberry pies in a short time."

Seeing her expression, he apologized hastily. "Forgive me, Belle – I did not mean to offend you, or to disparage something that you enjoy. I am simply explaining why such an event does not appeal to me personally."

Belle said firmly, "Well, _I_ think it sounds fun, and I want to go."

"Well, in that case, if it's that important to you…." Hervé began.

Belle smiled, pleased that he had changed his mind.

But her smile faded when he finished, "…then by all means, you certainly _should _attend. Go to the fair, if it pleases you. I will stay here and work on my book – that _is _the ostensible reason for my sabbatical, after all, and I do need to get more writing done. Then when you get home, you can tell me all about it. How does that sound?" He smiled pleasantly at her.

Belle looked at him, feeling frustrated. "Hervé, don't you ever want to go out and just have _fun?"_

"'Fun' means doing things that one enjoys, does it not?" Hervé pointed out. "Going to an event that I find unpleasant would therefore not constitute 'fun' for me, would it?"

"But Hervé—" she began, unconsciously raising her voice in exasperation.

"There is no need to shout, Belle," Hervé said, sounding offended.

"I'm sorry," Belle apologized. Hervé was so mild-mannered, she really shouldn't yell at him. She tried another tack. "Hervé, you've been courting me for a while now. Don't you think that if two people are together…if they care about each other…that they should try to share each other's interests, do activities the other person enjoys?"

"But we _do _share interests and activities, Belle," Hervé replied reasonably. "We share the most important interest of all: an interest in literature. I don't believe that two people have to have every single interest in common, or do everything together at every single moment of the day, do you?"

"Well, no..." Belle said, feeling like she was losing ground. "But it's just…I would really enjoy having you there with me. And I can't help feeling that if you truly cared about me, you would come, just to make me happy."

Hervé looked wounded. "I _do_ want you to be happy, Belle. If you enjoy fairs, I want you to go, and to have a wonderful time. But I myself _don't_ like this sort of thing. I don't like noise, or big crowds, or mess, or animals, and I have no interest in physical contests. If you care about _me, _why would you want to drag me to an all-day event that is certain to make me miserable? Would it please you to see me having an unhappy time all day?"

"No, of _course_ I don't want to make you unhappy," Belle said defensively. "It's just…I mean…" She trailed off, feeling guilty. Maybe he was right. She remembered the time she had forced Gaston to read out loud, and he had gotten angry when she wanted him to read more. Was she doing the same thing now, trying to change someone and force him to do something he didn't want to do? She meant well – she truly thought it would do Hervé some good to get out and have some fun, show him another perspective - but she couldn't _make_ him do it if he didn't want to. She herself hated to be forced or pressured, so it was wrong of her to do that to Hervé.

"I'm sorry," she said, defeated. "I guess I was being selfish."

Hervé smiled benevolently and came over to her, patting her shoulder. "Not at all, Belle," he assured her. "I am flattered that you desire my company. And please understand: it is by no means my intention to spoil your good time. As I said, if you enjoy fairs, you should certainly attend this one! I would never dream of telling you to forego the fair and stay home to keep me company, simply because I don't wish to attend. I believe that if we both enjoy something, such as reading, we should share that; but if we also have divergent interests, we can engage in them separately. That makes sense, doesn't it?"

"I suppose," Belle said, feeling deflated. Increasingly, it seemed that she came to visit Hervé excited and full of enthusiasm, but left feeling disappointed. Somehow, she found herself enjoying his company less and less as time went on.

Everything he said was logical and rational, and maybe he was right. But doing activities separately seemed so…unsatisfying to her. She had always envisioned sharing her enthusiasms with someone she loved, doing things together. If they also had some different interests, that simply meant an opportunity to learn something new, expand her horizons. Wasn't that the point of a relationship? To truly get to know the other person, to share things and learn from each other? Wasn't that what she and Gaston were doing, before ... well, before. She quickly pushed that thought away.

But they could only share things if it was what they both wanted. Forcing the other person to do things against his will was definitely _not _what a relationship was about. As disappointed as she was, she had to respect Hervé's wishes.

"Good!" said Hervé with satisfaction. "I am glad we were able to resolve the issue. I knew we would. Now, would you like some tea? Or to relax and enjoy a good book?"

"No, thanks, Hervé," Belle said. "I have to go to the market and do some errands. I just came to tell you about the fair." She headed for the door. She did have errands, but she also had some serious thinking to do.

"All right then," Hervé said, following her and opening the door for her. "Have a wonderful time tomorrow, and do be sure to tell me all about it when you return!"

"All right," Belle said, forcing a smile, and left.

Herve watched her go, then closed the door and went back to the table. He was glad to have the minor conflict resolved; he disliked discord or unpleasantness of any kind. But he had known they would be able to come to an agreement. Belle was such an intelligent, reasonable woman; she understood logic. Once he had explained his position, he had known she would see his point of view.

But then, there was so much to admire in Belle. She was interesting to discuss literature with, and with her agreeable personality, she was so pleasant to have around, even when they were reading books separately. He had immensely enjoyed the past few weeks, and relished the possibility of her coming back to Orlèans with him – or Paris, if he obtained the coveted position he had applied for at the Sorbonne. She would fit in so well with his lifestyle, he thought, just like a puzzle piece falling into its perfect slot. He could so easily picture her presiding over a tea with the dean and his wife, or holding her own in a discussion of literature with his colleagues – they would all be quite impressed with her knowledge and insight, especially from a woman who had not been to university herself. In the evenings, they would analyze books and authors over dinner before settling down to read.

He knew she would be delighted to leave the remote provincial village; she was far too exceptional and intelligent a woman to spend her life in a tiny backwater town among ignorant peasants. She deserved a far better life than that. He was glad that he could be the one to provide it for her.

Smiling at his pleasant musings, he sat back down at the table. In a way, it was just as well that Belle had something to keep herself occupied tomorrow, he thought; he really did need to get this book written before the end of his sabbatical. With a feeling of well-being, he returned to his work.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

That night, sitting in his usual chair at the tavern, Gaston tossed back a tankard of beer.

"So, Gaston," LeFou said, "tomorrow's the fair! You're going to win all the contests again, right? Just like last year!"

Gaston grinned. "Of course," he said confidently. He was in a fine mood. If Belle was at the fair tomorrow, she would see him showing off all his strength and skill and winning every prize. Surely that would impress her. That little milksop couldn't do any of the wonderful things Gaston could. And he had painstakingly memorized about half of the poem by now; another few weeks and he'd have it all down pat and ready to recite for Belle. Between Gaston's own characteristically amazing physical feats at the fair, and his new ability to toss off a poem to Belle from his memory with no mistakes, just like Hervé, she _had _to fall for him. His success was in the bag.

Sitting at the bar, Emile the silversmith said, "Well, I'm definitely going to put a few wagers on you at the fair, Gaston. That's the easiest money I'll make all year!"

"Not that you need it," said Jacques the carpenter with a laugh. "You've been doing pretty well for yourself lately, haven't you, Emile?"

"Can't complain, that's true," Emile agreed cheerfully. "The set of dinnerware I made for that nobleman brought in a pretty penny. And of course, you chipped in yourself by ordering that silver engagement ring from me…oh! Speaking of engagement rings, guess who just ordered one from me? And not the usual silver, either. We're talking 24 karat gold!"

"Really? Who?" the men all asked curiously. Although they would never admit it, they gossiped almost as much as the women.

Emile smiled, enjoying the attention. "That new guy, the bookseller's nephew. You know, the college fellow."

Gaston stiffened.

"He's been seeing a lot of Belle lately, you know," Emile went on. "So, he's going to ask her to marry him."

"When?" Gaston leaped up and stormed over to the bar to loom over Emile. "When is he going to ask her?" he demanded.

Emile looked surprised. "Hey, take it easy, Gaston! We're just talking."

"_When?" _Gaston insisted in agitation, resisting the urge to shake him. "Tonight?"

"No, the ring isn't even ready yet," Emile said, eyeing him in confusion. "And he said he wanted to hold off as long as he could so it would be a 'proper' courtship." Emile snorted. "Guy must have used the word 'proper' about half a dozen times during the conversation. Anyway, he's supposed to be back at his university by January 1st. So he figures he'll propose to Belle in about two weeks. He said that will give her time to pack up her things and sell the house and all, 'cause he figures her father will come with them, and then they'll leave in December."

Gaston stood still, thunderstruck. He had only two weeks before Hervé proposed! And if Hervé was already buying an engagement ring and planning a proposal, that meant things were _serious _between him and Belle – much more serious than Gaston had realized. While Gaston was busy working on the poem, that little weasel had gotten Belle to fall in love with him. The situation had suddenly become urgent.

"LeFou!" he said, snapping his fingers. "Come with me!"

Looking confused, LeFou followed him out of the tavern. "What's going on, Gaston?"

Gaston didn't answer. Looking grim, he headed towards his house, LeFou hurrying to keep up with his long strides.

Inside, Gaston grabbed the poetry book, which immediately fell open to the dog-eared page. He thrust it at LeFou. "Here," he said. "Look at this."

LeFou took the book in bewilderment. "What's this?"

"It's a poem," Gaston said impatiently. "I've been reading it."

LeFou stared at him in disbelief. Had Gaston gone crazy? "You're reading _poems?_ Why?"

"For Belle," Gaston said. "I _have_ to get her back from that bookworm."

LeFou's eyes widened. Then he grinned. "I _knew _it!" he said triumphantly. "All that stuff you said about being just friends with Belle…I _knew_ it had to be some kind of sneaky plan! You never give up what you want that easily."

Gaston shot him a glance, and LeFou instinctively flinched. Gaston hadn't hit him in a long time, but old habits died hard. But Gaston just said determinedly, "I'm _not_ giving up. That's why I need to learn this poem. She likes all that fancy book stuff that college guy says. I have to show her I can do the same thing."

LeFou looked at the book and wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Is she really worth all this?"

"She's worth _everything,"_ Gaston said immediately. "I don't have much time, LeFou. Once he asks her to marry him, it's all over. I _have _to get this poem memorized tonight. Then tomorrow night, after the fair, I'll recite it to her perfectly, just as good as that little weasel could do it. That will get her to fall in love with me."

LeFou looked at the poem. "What's it about?"

"Hunting," Gaston said.

LeFou was confused. "Why would Belle like a poem about hunting?"

Gaston shrugged. "It's in the section of the book on love poems, so I guess it's supposed to be a love poem."

LeFou looked even more baffled. "How can a poem about hunting be a love poem?"

"I don't _know!" _Gaston said in exasperation. "I just need to _learn _it, okay? You look at it while I say it, and tell me if I make a mistake."

LeFou looked doubtful, but he nodded. "Okay. I'll try."

Gaston cleared his throat and closed his eyes, concentrating. He began to recite, slowly and haltingly:

"Like as a huntsman after weary chase,

Seeing the game from him escaped away,

Sits down to rest him in some shady place,

With panting hounds…"

He trailed off, looking frustrated. "What's the next word?"

LeFou squinted at it. "I don't know," he admitted. "It begins with a "B."

Gaston rolled his eyes in annoyance. He grabbed the book and looked at the word. "Beguiled," he said.

"Oh," LeFou said. He took the book back.

"Beguiled of their prey," Gaston continued. He closed his eyes again, struggling to remember the words.

"So, after long pursuit and vain assay,

When I all weary had the chase forsook,

The gentle deer returned the selfsame way,

Seeking to quench her thirst at the next brook..."

He stopped.

"'There'…" LeFou prompted.

Gaston shook his head. "That's all I know so far," he admitted.

LeFou looked at the page. "That's only half of it. There's a lot more."

"I know," Gaston said with a weary sigh. "I've read the thing over a hundred times, but memorizing it line by line is really tough."

LeFou stared at him. "This is _crazy,_ Gaston! Wouldn't it be easier to just go up to her and tellher you love her?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I just don't get it, Gaston. You say you want Belle, but you haven't even gone _near_ her lately! That other guy's been spending all this time with her, and you've just stayed away from her. I haven't even seen you talk to her. It doesn't make sense! Usually you'd be right in there, going up to her all the time, and pushing the other guy out of the way, and asking her to marry you and stuff."

"I know. But that doesn't work with Belle!" Gaston explained. "She's as skittish as a deer – if I come on too strong, following her around and being pushy, she runs away. But if I back off and leave her alone, sometimes she…" He stopped suddenly, looking startled. His eyes widened in realization.

"What?" LeFou asked.

Gaston snatched the book from him and scanned the page. "I just figured out what this poem is about."

"Oh? What?"

"It's about Belle," Gaston said.

"Belle?" LeFou frowned. That didn't make any sense. The guy who wrote the poem couldn't possibly know Belle! Gaston was acting so strange lately. All that chasing after Belle must have gotten to him.

He thought about what Gaston had said – that Belle ran away if he got too close, that he'd had to act like he was just friends with her, that now he even had to stay away from her completely, even though he wanted her more than anything, while she was running around town with another guy…

For the first time in his entire life, LeFou was glad he wasn't Gaston. He thought of his Amelie, so warm and open and friendly. Amelie didn't play games, or blow hot and cold like Belle did. Amelie had come right up to him and made it clear from the start that she liked him. She was sweet and kind and baked cookies for him. She was the nicest girl that LeFou had ever met in his whole life, and he still couldn't believe how lucky he was.

He would do anything to make Amelie happy, so in a way he could understand how Gaston felt. But the difference was, Amelie _appreciated _it. Any time he did something nice for her, she was so glad, and smiled and thanked him. Whereas Belle didn't act like she cared about Gaston at all. She was spending all her time with that other guy. Meanwhile, here was Gaston, ready to jump through hoops and practically kill himself trying to memorize a poem to impress her. When the truth was that it probably wouldn't make any difference, as far as LeFou could see.

"Come on," Gaston said, handing the book back. "Here. Let's practice the rest. I have to get it perfect."

"All right." But LeFou looked hesitant. "Gaston…" he said, wondering if he should say something.

"What?" Gaston asked impatiently. Time was wasting.

"Never mind," LeFou said, thinking better of it.

Gaston eyed him suspiciously. "No, tell me," he insisted. "Is it about Belle?"

"Well…" LeFou said, hoping he wouldn't regret speaking up. Gaston had been a lot nicer to him lately, true…but still, he wasn't known for reacting well to bad news. "It's just…you said Belle likes this other guy because of all his fancy talk about books, right?"

"Right," Gaston said.

"So that means she probably spends a lot of time with him talking about books. He probably goes on and on and _on_ about them for hours, saying all kinds of fancy things, right?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So…how can one poem compete with all that?" LeFou pointed out. "I mean, let's say you do recite this poem for her, and she likes it. What happens then? She'll probably say, 'Gaston, I never knew you liked poems! Tell me another one!' Or maybe 'Tell me all about this poem!' You know, wanting to hear fancy stuff with lots of big words like that other guy says. Then what will you do?"

Gaston froze. He hadn't thought that far ahead. The poem itself was supposed to be the magic spell that made Belle love him. "I-I don't know," he admitted, shaken.

"I gotta be honest, Gaston," LeFou said, shaking his head. "I think you're wasting your time. It's not gonna work."

"It _has _to work!" Gaston said in desperation. He got up and paced, agitated. "I love her, LeFou. I _have _to get her back. This…this is the only thing left I can _do_. I have to do this. You have to help me!"

LeFou looked at Gaston, so heartsick and desperate. Gaston, whom everyone worshipped. Gaston, who made all the girls swoon. Gaston, who could have any woman in the whole village…except the one he wanted.

"Sure, Gaston," Lefou said quietly. He had never dreamed that he could ever pity Gaston, but he did now. "Whatever you want. You know I'll help."

Gaston looked grateful. "Thanks." He paused a moment. "It _is_ going to work, you know," he said firmly. "She's going to come back to me." LeFou wondered if Gaston was trying to convince LeFou, or himself.

"Sure she will," LeFou said reassuringly. "You'll read the poem, and she'll fall in love with you, and it'll all work out fine." He didn't know what else to say.

"Yes, it will," Gaston said determinedly. He nodded at the book, full of resolve. "Let's get started. We have a lot of work to do tonight."

"Okay," LeFou said, and opened the book.


	21. The Fair

The next day, Belle was up early. She was looking forward to the fair, but she was also feeling depressed about Hervé. Things just weren't going the way she had hoped.

Her father greeted her cheerfully in the kitchen. "Good morning, Belle! My woodcutting machine is in the back of the wagon, and I've hitched up Philippe! Are you ready to go?"

"Good morning, Papa. I'll just make us a picnic lunch, and then we can go," Belle said. She began putting cheese, fruit, and some leftover roast chicken into her basket.

Maurice watched her. "Is everything all right?" he asked. "When you told me about the fair, you seemed so excited about it, but today you're kind of quiet."

"I'm fine, Papa," Belle said with a sigh. "It's just Hervé. I invited him to go to the fair with us, but he said no. He says he hates fairs. Too noisy and crowded."

"Well, not everyone likes them, it's true," Maurice said. Then he added encouragingly, "But things must be going well between you, if you're going to miss him so much today!"

Belle smiled sadly. "I wish that were the case." The lunch packing finished, she sat down at the table. "I don't know, Papa…When I met Hervé, I thought he was my dream come true. He was so intelligent, and so polite, and knew everything about literature. He seemed perfect. But as I've gotten to know him…well, I'm just not as happy as I thought I would be."

Maurice sat down next to her, looking concerned. "Oh? He seemed nice enough when we had dinner that time."

"He _is _nice – I mean, he's very polite, a perfect gentleman," Belle said. "But he's also very conventional, and set in his ways, and he likes everything to be orderly and quiet and predictable. He loves routine, and he hates adventure and surprises. And all he ever wants to do is read books. I mean, I love books too, of course, but I like to do other things too!" She was silent a moment, thinking. "At first it was interesting, because I was learning a lot about books that I didn't know before. But he analyzes them in such a dry, detached way – he doesn't really get _into _them emotionally in the same way I do. And after all these weeks of doing the same thing...well, I never dreamed I would _ever _say this, but I'm actually _tired_ of reading and talking about books all the time! When I'm with him, I wish we could just go out and _do _something! That was why I invited him to the fair. I thought it would be good to get him out a little, show him that there are fun things outside of books. But he won't go."

Maurice looked sympathetic. "Well, you can't make people do anything they don't want to do. But it sounds to me like you need to have a long talk with him and tell him how you feel. And you have to figure out for yourself if this is something that can be worked out or not."

"I know," Belle said with a sigh. "Maybe I'll talk to him tomorrow." She looked up earnestly. "Papa, do you think I'm being too picky? I know I can't make him change who he is, and it's unfair of me to _ask_ him to change. But at the same time…I honestly don't know if I can be happy with him."

Unexpectedly, she found herself thinking of Gaston. After all, she had tried to change _him_ at first, too, forcing him to read aloud. Yet with Gaston, they had been able to get past that issue, and come to a happy medium. Gaston had discovered that he actually _liked _some books, if Belle read them aloud to him. And she had discovered that she genuinely enjoyed his company, even though he wasn't an intellectual and didn't want to read on his own. Their differences had made things interesting and stimulating, and the more she got to know him, the more she liked him. Whereas with Hervé, it seemed to be the opposite. At first, she had thought Hervé was perfect for her; on the surface, they seemed to have everything in common. Yet the more she got to know him, the less she enjoyed being with him.

Maurice patted her shoulder. "Life is never easy, is it? I wish I could tell you what to do, but there's no one right answer. All relationships have their problems, but if the two people truly care about each other, they can work it out. But on the other hand, if the person just isn't right for you, he isn't right for you. If don't feel anything for him, you can't force it. All I can tell you is to follow your heart."

"Thank you, Papa. I guess I'll talk to him about it tomorrow, and try to figure out how I feel and if the relationship is worth saving. But just having you here to listen made me feel better." She stood up. "But enough about my problems. Let's go to the fair! I bet you'll win first prize in the invention contest!"

"I hope so!" Maurice agreed.

They went outside to the wagon. Then, impulsively, Belle said, "Wait a minute, Papa. I'll be right back." She ran to the bookseller's house and knocked on the door. It couldn't hurt to try one last time before they left.

"Belle! Good morning!" Hervé greeted her. "Are you off to the fair?"

"Yes," she said, smiling. "I just thought I'd ask you again before we go - is there any chance you could come with us? I'd really love for you to come. And look…" She held up her basket. "I packed a picnic lunch!"

Hervé smiled. "That is very kind of you, Belle, but as I told you, I get no pleasure from this sort of event. If I went, I would be miserable, and would only put a damper on your good time, I'm sure. And I do have a lot of work to get done on my book. But you go ahead and have a splendid time. I'll see you tomorrow."

"All right," Belle said. There was no point arguing, she knew. She hadn't really expected him to change his mind, but she'd hoped that _maybe_ there was a chance he could bend a little.

She headed back to the wagon. Tomorrow she would talk to Hervé and try to figure out what to do. But today, she decided, she would put Hervé out of her mind and just have fun at the fair.

She joined her father. "Okay, Papa! Let's go!"

Her spirits rose as the carriage rolled along the wide road through the forest. Just leaving Molyneaux and going to see another town was fun and exciting, a break in the usual routine. And she'd never been to a country fair before. It was something new, an adventure.

When they arrived in Clermont-Ferrand, Belle gasped. She had never seen so many people in one place! They left the horse and wagon at the hostelry. Maurice asked a passerby where the invention contest was being held, and was directed to a nearby tent. Belle helped him set up his woodcutting machine. Maurice looked around, and was fascinated to see the other inventions. "My word, this is intriguing! How is it constructed?" he asked a man who had a clock in which a little wooden cuckoo bird emerged to signal the hour with a "cuckoo" call. The man began chatting with Maurice, who was delighted to have the chance to talk with other inventors.

He paused in his conversation to tell his daughter, "Belle, my contest isn't until 2:00. Why don't you go and enjoy the fair? You can meet me back here for the judging."

Belle smiled. "All right, Papa." She _was _eager to see more of the fair, and her father was clearly having the time of his life sharing his ideas about inventing with people who could appreciate it.

She left the tent and walked around the fair, enjoying the lively atmosphere and color. Children ran about eagerly, while their parents chatted with friends. Farmers passed by leading cows and pigs or carrying huge pumpkins, hoping to win first prize for their impressive livestock and produce, and vendors eagerly hawked their wares.

Belle soon discovered that there had been no need to pack a lunch. Everywhere she looked were carts selling all kinds of tempting delicacies: roast pork and goose, fried sausages, plum puddings, cakes and gingerbread, fruits and nuts, cheeses, candy and sugarplums. There were also carts selling bonnets and handkerchiefs, pipes and tobacco, small toys, and a variety of baubles and trinkets along with more useful items.

On a small stage, a puppet theater had been set up, and a performance was about to begin. Belle stopped to watch. The main character was a funny-looking marionette called Polichinelle, who had a big pot belly, a hunchback, and a huge hooked nose. His nagging wife, Dame Gigogne, a silly dog, and a drunken friend were also part of the act. Belle laughed at the puppets' crazy antics. She admired the artistry of the puppeteers, and the way they incorporated different kinds of humor in the show. The irreverent Polichinelle was free with his speech, poking fun at all classes and making comments ranging from sly political satire to clever insults to ribald, risqué jokes. But the biggest laughs came from the physical comedy and slapstick, with puppets hitting each other with sticks and doing pratfalls. Belle found it all very entertaining.

She moved on and saw a juggler, and then a small of musicians playing lively music on a hurdy-gurdy, harmonica, and tambourine.

It was amazing, she mused. She had always thought of her tiny village and its neighbors as dull. But just as with the village dance and the sewing circle, she again found herself surprised by the life and color and spirit to be found here. There was much more to this "provincial life" and its people than met the eye, she was discovering.

Passing by a tent, she was surprised to hear someone calling her name. It was Monique, standing with Josette and Cecile. "Hi, Belle!"

"Belle!" Raoul and Renaud ran forward and hugged Belle's legs. She bent down and hugged them back.

"It's good to see you all!" Belle said, glad to have found her friends so unexpectedly.

"Cecile and I are about to find out who makes the best pastry," Monique told her. "I'm _sure _my apple pie is going to win!"

Cecile laughed. "Not after they taste my peach cobbler!"

"I'm not taking sides," Belle said with a smile. "You're both wonderful cooks!" Then she looked around. "Where's Amelie?" she asked.

"Oh, you just missed her," Monique said. "We were all watching the weightlifting competition a little while ago---"

"All those big, strong men!" Josette interrupted with a dreamy sigh. "It was _glorious!_ You should have seen it! Of course, Gaston won – he always does."

Belle felt a little pang at the mention of Gaston. She wondered if she would see him today at the fair.

"Anyway, Gaston's going to be in a target-shooting contest next, so Amelie and LeFou went to watch," Monique went on. "But Cecile and I have our baking competition now, so we had to come back here."

The judge announced that judging was about to start. The girls quickly entered the tent, and Monique and Cecile put their desserts on the table.

There were 20 entries. After the first round of tasting, it was down to the top five. The girls watched eagerly. "These are all so delicious, it's almost impossible to choose!" the judge admitted. He tasted them all again.

"First prize goes to the peach cobbler!" he announced. "Second prize to the apple pie!"

Monique groaned good-naturedly. "Great. Now we'll have to hear Cecile bragging for the next year. I'll never hear the end of it!"

"Hey, I've earned it!" Cecile replied proudly.

"Congratulations, both of you!" Belle said.

Monique smiled. "Congratulations, Cecile," she said sincerely. "That peach cobbler _is _yummy, I have to admit! But I'm going to beat you next year, wait and see!"

Then Belle noticed the time. "Oh, it's almost time for my father's inventing contest!" she said. "I'll see you girls later."

"Wait, I'll come with you," Monique said. "I'd like to see how your father does."

"Thanks," Belle said, surprised and pleased.

"I wish I could come, but I promised Emile I'd meet him for the pie-eating contest," Cecile said. "But I'll see you both later."

"I want to see that too!" Josette said. "We'll see you later, Belle!"

Belle and Monique went to the inventing tent. Belle shared her food and drink with her father, who told her happily, "I'm meeting the most ingenious inventors here! Remarkable people!"

Then it was time for the judging. To Belle's delight, her father's woodcutting machine won first prize, which included not only a medal, but a cash prize. Not only that, but everyone who watched the contest was impressed by the machine. Several people came up to Maurice, wanting to know where they could buy one, and one man wanted to talk about going into business with Maurice to help him manufacture and sell them in quantity.

Belle congratulated her father, then left him to talk business while she saw more of the fair with Monique. She was so glad she had come – she was having a wonderful time.

O o o o o o o

Hervé frowned as he looked at his notes. He had gotten as far as he could in writing his book, but in order to continue, he really _needed_ that reference book. When on earth would it get here? He had ordered it weeks ago!

He went to the bookstore to ask his uncle about it. "Uncle, do you have any idea when my reference book will be here? I need it, but it seems to be taking an extraordinary long time to arrive."

Mssr. Liseur was surprised. "The reference book? Didn't Belle give it to you?"

"Belle?" Hervé said in confusion. "No."

The bookseller frowned. "That's odd. The reference book came in yesterday. Belle stopped by, looking for you, so I told her you were at the house, and asked her to give the book to you. She put it in her basket."

Her basket…Hervé had a sudden mental image of Belle this morning, inviting him once more to come to the fair. She had mentioned that she was bringing a picnic lunch, and had held up her basket as proof.

"It would seem she forgot to give it to me," Hervé said, annoyed. "It must still be in her basket. She took it with her to the fair."

His uncle shrugged. "That's a shame. I guess you'll just have to wait till she comes home tonight to get it."

Hervé went back to the house. He couldn't do any more writing without the book. He tried to read, but he grew more and more annoyed as time passed. He _needed _that reference book! He had planned to spend the whole day working, and his writing had been going well – he hated to have it interrupted.

He began to get fidgety. He couldn't concentrate on reading or anything else.

Finally he made a decision. He would go to the fair, find Belle, and get his reference book back. Then he could finally get some real work done.

He went outside. The village was almost deserted; nearly everyone had gone to the fair. But as Hervé looked around the village, he found a straggler, a farmer who had had to take care of a cow birthing a calf that morning, which had delayed his departure.

"Excuse me," Hervé said to the farmer as he helped his large and unruly brood of children into his farm wagon. "If you're going to the fair, might I get a ride with you?"

"Sure, hop in," the farmer said cheerfully.

"Thank you. I am much obliged," Hervé said. He climbed into the wagon, where he found himself uncomfortably squeezed in among the farmer's plump wife and several rowdy, wrestling children. The wagon jolted and bumped along the road. Hervé sat grim and silent, praying the ride would end soon.

Finally they arrived at the fair. Hervé thanked the farmer again and pressed a few coins into his hand. Then he set off to look for Belle.

His senses were immediately bombarded by a cacophony of sounds and a plethora of smells, which made him wrinkle his nose in distaste. Everywhere were hordes of people, brushing up against him or bumping him as they pushed their way here and there. Ragged, sticky-faced urchins raced around madly, shrieking at the top of their lungs, and one who wasn't looking where he was going ran right into Hervé at top speed, practically knocking him over, then raced off without so much as a "pardon me."

He passed by a puppet theater where the afternoon show was in progress. The puppets appeared to be hitting each other and falling down, while the audience roared with laughter. Hervé shook his head disparagingly. Undoubtedly this was what passed for sophisticated humor to these rustic folk.

Where on earth was Belle? he wondered. It seemed nearly impossible to find her amongst the throngs of fairgoers.

He saw a group of people gathered around, watching some sort of contest, and moved forward to see if he could spot Belle in the crowd. He scanned the spectators…no sign of her, unfortunately. Then his eye fell on the contestant, and he grimaced. It was that barbaric Philistine, Gaston. No doubt he was showing off his brute animal strength to the admiration of the crowd, as though it were some sort of noble achievement. Physical prowess seemed to be the only attribute these rustics were impressed by…that, or the unparalleled accomplishment of having produced the heaviest farm animal or the largest vegetable, Hervé thought.

Then his eyes widened in disbelief. No. Surely it couldn't be. Even these primitives couldn't sink as low as _this, _could they? But apparently…they could.

As Hervé gaped, flabbergasted, that musclebound cretin took a cherry out of a bowl laid out for the contestants, put it in his mouth, chewed a moment, then stepped forward to the chalk line drawn on the ground and _expectorated, _sending the cherry pit flying through the air. It landed far away on the ground.

It was the most appallingly vulgar display Hervé had ever witnessed, not to mention shockingly unhygienic. But to the scholar's amazement, the spectators actually _cheered, _as though the brainless buffoon had actually done something noteworthy!

The judge brought out a yardstick and solemnly measured the distance. "93 feet! A new record!" he announced. The crowd cheered again, and Gaston raised his fists in the air in a victory gesture.

"No one spits like Gaston!" a spectator said admiringly to Hervé.

"A skill to be proud of, I'm sure," Hervé replied dryly.

He walked away, not wishing to see any more of the rude spectacle. As he traveled through the fair, looking for Belle, he saw farm animals everywhere, being led around right where the people were walking, and moved away from them. Then he felt his foot squish something. He stopped and looked down. To his extreme disgust, he saw that he had stepped in a cow patty. Shuddering in revulsion, he took out his handkerchief and wiped off his shoe as best he could, then threw the handkerchief away.

He marched on, determined to find Belle as soon as possible so he could retrieve his book and at last vacate this repulsive scene.

O o o o o o

"Come on!" Monique said to Belle. "The greased pig contest is about to start! Jacques' in it, I have to cheer him on." She added with a wink, "Of course, I have absolutely NO desire at all to see all the other shirtless guys."

Belle laughed. "All right. Let's go!"

They headed toward the big barn where the contest was being held. The greased pig contest was one of the highlights of the fair, and throngs of people were crowded around the pigpen inside. Monique managed to push her way to the front so she and Belle could have a good view. One side of the pen held a mud puddle; on the other side was a young pig that had been smeared with grease to make it slippery. By the judge's stand, men were lined up, joking and laughing as they waited their turn.

"Oh, there's Jacques!" Monique said, waving.

The contest began. One by one, each man took off his shirt, climbed into the pen, and tried to catch the slippery, squealing, running pig within the 90-second time limit, as the audience laughed and cheered him on. Jacques came close to catching it at one point, but then the pig suddenly changed course and ran under his legs. Trying to twist around, Jacques lost his balance and fell into the mud puddle, and then his time ran out. He stood up, grinning sheepishly and dripping with mud, but the crowd cheered anyway.

Monique giggled. "Aw, poor Jacques! I'd better go help clean him up and soothe his wounded pride."

Belle smiled. "Okay! I'll see you later!" Monique pushed her way out of the crowd to find Jacques. Belle turned back to the pen, enjoying the humor and sheer absurdity of the contest. Everyone was laughing and in a good mood. Sometimes a little silliness was just what was needed to lighten up the seriousness of life.

The rest of the line moved quickly. None of the men was able to catch the pig. Then Belle took a sharp intake of breath. There was Gaston. He was the last contestant. He pulled off his shirt, then grinned broadly as all the girls in the audience whooped and called. Instead of immediately climbing into the pen as the others had done, Gaston gripped his hands together and raised them over his head in a victory gesture, turning around and posing, milking the moment. Belle giggled with fond amusement as she watched him. Typical Gaston – he just _loved _attention.

Watching him grinning and laughing, all set to climb into a pen and chase a pig to win a prize, Belle was suddenly struck with how full of _life _Gaston was. He abounded in fun and energy and spirit, always ready for an adventure, always game for anything, any bet or dare or joke. She felt wistful, overcome with longing. Being with Gaston had been fun and exciting. He had made her feel alive, as though he was showing her a whole world she hadn't known existed, a world where anything could happen and life was full of surprises.

She missed him. It was as simple as that. All the other girls were swooning over his body – which was looking _very _good, Belle had to admit, with his huge biceps and broad chest. But she missed _him_ – just _being _with him, horseback riding and reading to him, even arguing with him. When she had made the decision to let Hervé court her, she hadn't realized that she would lose Gaston's friendship entirely, that he would never even _speak_ to her again. She sighed, feeling a sense of sadness and loss.

Gaston climbed into the pen, and tried to creep up on the pig, but it ran away. He lunged after it a few times, trying to feint and weave and head it off, but it ducked away and headed toward the mud. Gaston crouched, then leaped forward with arms outstretched, trying to tackle it. But he miscalculated. With a tremendous splash, he belly-flopped right into the mud puddle, and was completely submerged for a moment. Everyone gasped.

Then the audience started to giggle: the pig had somehow ended up on Gaston's head, so as he started to get up, for a moment it looked as though Gaston's body had a pig's head. Then, slowly and carefully, Gaston started to rise…and quick as a flash, he snatched the pig off his head and gripped it to his chest.

He stood up, covered with mud and grease, and grinned good-naturedly, holding the pig. The barn erupted in cheers. Belle cheered too.

"Ladies and gentleman, we have a winner!" the judge announced. Gaston raised the squirming pig triumphantly over his head, then put it down and climbed out of the pen. A crowd of friends and well-wishers immediately surged around him to congratulate him.

Belle started to move forward, but then hesitated. She wanted to go over to him – it had been so long since she'd talked to him. But she felt suddenly shy. She knew he was angry at her for choosing Hervé; he hadn't even come near her since then. Clearly he wanted nothing more to do with her.

But…surely it would be all right just to congratulate him on winning the contest? She decided to do it. Maybe it would break the ice.

She waited as Gaston talked and joked with all the well-wishers. Finally, after about 20 minutes, the crowd around him drifted away. Gaston splashed water on himself at the horse trough, washing off all the grease and mud, then dried off. Now was a good time. Belle took a step forward, ready to go over and congratulate him.

But before she could, another girl suddenly sidled up to him. Belle stopped short, uncertain. The girl had long, shiny, copper-colored hair, big blue eyes, a voluptuous figure, and long shapely legs.

Gaston hadn't noticed the girl yet. But she caught his attention by brazenly putting her hand on his arm just as he was about to put his shirt back on. "Ooh, not so fast!" she said flirtatiously, in an exotic accent. "Let a girl enjoy the view a little longer, won't you?" She ran her eye over his muscular arms and chest. "Very, very nice," she said appreciatively.

Gaston grinned. "I know, I'm a sight to behold!" he said, flexing his muscles proudly. "But sorry, I'll have to put my shirt back on now. It _is _November, after all."

She pouted. "Oh, all right."

"You'll have to let go of my arm first," Gaston pointed out.

The girl looked down at the muscular bicep she was still clinging to. "You just _have _to spoil all my fun, don't you?" she teased. "Okay, whatever you say." She let go.

"That's a good girl," Gaston said, putting his shirt back on.

She smiled meaningfully. "Oh, I wouldn't say _that," _she said with a wink. "So…you _must _be that Gaston everyone's been talking about. 'The strongest, handsomest man in all of France,' they said." She gave him another admiring once-over. "They were telling the truth, I see."

"Yep, that's me," Gaston agreed. "And who might you be?"

"I'm Klaske," she said, fluttering her eyelashes.

"Klaske? That's an unusual name," Gaston commented.

"It's Dutch," Klaske explained. "I'm from the Netherlands - we just moved to France recently. I didn't want to move at first…but if I'd known there were men like you here, I would have been a lot more eager to come! We don't have any men like you back home!"

Gaston grinned. "They don't have any men like me here in France, either," he pointed out. "I'm one of a kind."

"You can say that again," she purred. "So, why haven't I seen you around here before?"

"I don't live in Clermont-Ferrand," Gaston said. "I'm from Molyneaux, a few miles away."

"A few miles, hmmm?" Klaske said. "Then we'll just have to find a reason for you to come here more often, won't we?"

Belle felt a wave of jealousy overtake her. She couldn't stand it anymore. "Gaston?" she called.

He looked up and saw her, and immediately his eyes lit up. "Belle!" He came over to her. Then, belatedly remembering that he was supposed to be polite, he half-turned and said over his shoulder, "It was nice meeting you, Klaske."

"Likewise," Klaske said, glaring daggers at Belle. She was about to say something else, but a young man who had been admiring her from afar throughout the conversation saw his opportunity, and quickly stepped in front of her to say hello.

Gaston gazed at her, taking her in as though he was thrilled simply to be _looking_ at her. He smiled. "So, Belle, are you enjoying the fair?"

She nodded, relieved to see that he didn't appear angry at her after all. He actually seemed glad to see her. "It's a lot of fun. And congratulations on winning the greased pig contest!"

He grinned. "You saw that, huh?"

"Yes. And from what I heard, you won every contest they had today!"

"Of course. Who else?" he said proudly.

Belle smiled at his familiar egotism. That was the Gaston she knew. It just felt so _good_ to be talking to him, after so long.

Gaston was bragging about the various contests he'd won. "Then, in the last round of the archery contest, they moved the target back to 100 feet. Everyone said it was impossible to hit it from so far away—"

Suddenly he broke off, and Belle saw him smile slightly and give a little involuntary shake of the head, as though admonishing himself. He looked at her attentively. "Belle, how have you been? Are you reading any good books now?"

Belle smiled, amused and touched at the way he consciously remembered to be more polite. There was just something so dear and sweet about him. "Yes, a few."

He looked interested. "Anything with monsters? Or lots of fighting and action?"

"Actually, yes," she said. "I just read one about a hero called Beowulf, who fought a terrifying monster called Grendel…" She went on telling him about the story, and he listened, asking questions. Her shyness had vanished. Now, talking to him felt as natural as though they'd never been apart.

Suddenly she was interrupted by a voice calling, "Belle! Thank heavens! _There _you are!"

She turned around, and her eyes widened. "Hervé?" she said in surprise. She couldn't believe it – he was really here!

Her face broke into a delighted smile, and she beamed at Hervé. He had actually come after all! He must have felt bad about disappointing her, and wanted to make amends.

A wild surge of hope swelled within her. Maybe there was more to him than she had realized. The fact that he had overcome his objections to the fair and come all this way, just to make her happy – that meant a lot to her. "Hervé, I'm so glad you came!" she said warmly. "Come on, let me show you around. The fair is mostly over, but there are still some things we can see."

"No, I can't stay. I didn't come for the fair," Hervé said.

Belle was confused. "You didn't?"

Hervé shook his head. "No, I just need that reference book you have in your basket. The one you were supposed to give me yesterday. It's very important."

She looked startled. "Oh, the reference book! I'm so sorry, I forgot all about it." She rummaged in her basket. "Oh, look, here it is. It was underneath all the picnic things." She handed it to Hervé.

"Thank you. Although I really wish you hadn't forgotten it yesterday," Hervé said, a bit petulantly. "It would have saved me a trip."

"I'm sorry," Belle said.

"Well, what's done is done," Hervé said. "Now, how do I get back to Molyneaux?"

Belle looked at him in disbelief. "Hervé, look…whatever the reason, you're _here _now. Why don't you stay, and spend some time with me, and try to have a good time? We'll be leaving in a couple of hours; then you can ride home with my father and me."

Hervé shook his head in distaste. "Believe me, Belle, I've already seen far more of this so-called 'fun' fair than I ever wished to, or ever hope to again. Noise, crowds, mess, ridiculous contests and vulgar displays…Right now, all I want to do is to get back to my uncle's house and get some work done."

Belle stared at him. With a crushing sense of disappointment, she faced the truth: this relationship just wasn't going to work. She had tried her best, heaven knew, and Hervé wasn't a bad person, but there was simply no way on earth that she could ever be happy with this man. He just wasn't the right one for her. She knew that now, once and for all. She would have to end it.

But this was not the time or place to talk to him about it. It was too crowded and too public. Tomorrow, back at home, she would have a long talk with him in private, explain how she felt, and break it off with him. She wasn't looking forward to that conversation, but it would have to be done.

She sighed, feeling desolate. She had had such high hopes at the start. Now all her dreams had turned to dust.

"Fine, Hervé," she said quietly. "Whatever you want. Just take the main road through the forest – it leads straight to Molyneaux. There are always a lot of carriages on that road, in both directions; I'm sure you'll be able to get a ride with no problem."

"All right," Hervé said. He smiled, in a much better mood now that he had his reference book back, and feeling relieved to know that he could now leave the odious fair. "You have a good time, Belle," he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Stay as long as you like. I shall see you back at Molyneaux."

"Sure," Belle said, trying to smile. Hervé headed out of the barn.

Gaston watched the entire exchange with growing jealousy, scowling. When Belle had first said hello to him, he had felt a moment of hope. At least she did still seem to like him a little. She had been friendly. But the moment she'd seen Hervé, Gaston had felt his heart sink. Belle's whole face had lit up at the mere _sight _of Hervé. She was clearly thrilled to see him at the fair. Then when he had said he couldn't stay, she had looked absolutely crushed.

Even though Belle had been spending all of her time with Hervé over the past few weeks…even though she would surely see him again tonight when she got home from the fair… she was clearly _so _attached to him that the thought of being apart from him even for a few _hours _was devastating to her. And the way he'd kissed her on the cheek, so familiar, as though they were already married.

That brief conversation confirmed all of Gaston's worst fears. Belle was deeply in love with Hervé. LeFou was right. What chance did his one poem have against that?

But at least Hervé was gone for the moment, Gaston thought. "Belle," he said, "I'm done with my contests, so I'm going to the tavern. Everyone goes there to celebrate on fair day. Why don't you come with me? Everyone from Molyneaux will be there too. It'll be fun."

Belle smiled at him gratefully, glad he was trying to cheer her up. "Thanks, Gaston, I'd like that. I just have to go find my father first, and then we'll both meet you at the tavern."

"Great!" Gaston said. They left the barn, and Belle went off to find Maurice.

Gaston watched her go, then turned to go to the tavern. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hervé heading toward the forest. He shook his head in disgust. How could Belle possibly be attracted to a guy like that?

Then Gaston suddenly noticed something. Hervé was on the wrong side of the town square, facing the wrong part of the forest. He had been looking around in confusion, but now he suddenly straightened up, as though he'd seen something. As Gaston watched, Hervé headed confidently toward the old hunting path that led into the woods, apparently thinking it was the road back to Molyneaux. Hunters used that path as a shortcut to get quickly into the heart of the forest, where the most game was to be found; once there, the trail faded out, and the hunter made his own way through the woods, tracking the game and choosing where to go. If Hervé took that path, he'd end up in the deepest part of the forest, far from any town, and no doubt hopelessly lost.

Gaston cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hervé!" he called. "Hervé!"

Hearing his name, the scholar turned around. But on seeing that the caller was Gaston, he quickly turned back, hunched over, and ran into the woods as fast as he could.

Gaston swore under his breath. The idiot. Gaston had only been trying to warn him that he was going the wrong way. _The hell with him then, _Gaston thought. _I tried to tell him. If he didn't listen, it's his problem._

He started to turn away. But then he paused. Maybe he should go after Herve. The little wimp was probably going to get lost in the woods…and the odds were that he wasn't going to be able to find his way out. And if the wolves found him…

If the wolves found him…then he wouldn't be able to marry Belle, Gaston suddenly realized, startled, his eyes widening. If Hervé was gone, Belle's affections would return to Gaston, and she would marry _him._ He would have no competition.

He stood still, his heart pounding. This was his one chance. He could have Belle. All he had to do was…nothing. Just do nothing at all…and Belle would be his.

As he stood there, hesitating, Claude and Francois came up to him. "Come on, Gaston! Everyone's waiting for you in the tavern!" Francois said.

Gaston straightened up. "Sure," he said firmly. "Let's go." Without a backward glance, he joined them.


	22. Crossroads

"You sure did great in the contests today, Gaston!" LeFou gushed as Gaston stood in the center of the tavern, surrounded by admirers.

Amelie added shyly, "I've never seen anyone lift so much weight before." Privately she found Gaston a little bit intimidating – he was so big and so loud, and always surrounded by people – but he was LeFou's best friend, so she tried to be loyally supportive.

"Yep, no one's as strong as me," Gaston replied automatically, only half listening. He was scanning the room and watching the door, looking for Belle. Where was she? What if she changed her mind and didn't come?

Then he saw her enter with her father and look around, and his eyes lit up. "Excuse me," he said to his admirers, and moved through the crowded room toward her. Anyone else would have had difficulty pushing his way through the throng, but when people saw it was Gaston, they immediately parted to left him through. He passed through the room almost as easily as if it were empty.

"Hello, Belle, Maurice," Gaston said, smiling. "Glad you could make it."

At a nearby table, the other inventors at the fair looked up at hearing Maurice's name. "Maurice! Come join us!"

Maurice looked at Belle. "Do you mind if I do?"

"Not at all, Papa," Belle said warmly. "Have a good time." Maurice went to sit with the inventors.

Gaston gallantly offered his arm to Belle. She smiled and took it. "You've become quite the gentleman!" she said teasingly.

"No one's as polite as Gaston!" he said with a charming grin, leading her to a corner table where there was more privacy. "Are you thirsty? Do you want some apple cider?"

"Oh, yes, thanks!" Belle said. Without taking his eyes off her, Gaston snapped his fingers, and a barmaid came over. Gaston ordered ale for himself and cider for Belle.

"So, did you have a good time today, Belle?" Gaston asked when they had their drinks.

"Oh, yes! There was so much to see and do." She smiled in amusement. "That greased pig contest was funny! I've never seen anything like it before."

Gaston grinned. "Yeah, it's silly, but fun. I think they do it mainly so the guys can show off for the ladies with their shirts off."

Belle laughed. "It's true. That was certainly the main attraction for some of the girls I know!" She sipped her cider. "The whole fair was so much fun. Honestly, I can't imagine how Hervé could possibly not enjoy it."

Gaston's smile vanished. He looked away from Belle and shifted uneasily, wondering what was happening to Hervé right now, out in the woods. Quickly he pushed the thought away. Hervé wasn't important. What _was_ important was that he was finally alone with Belle – well, as alone as he could be in an overcrowded public tavern. This was his big chance to win her back. He needed to be as charming as possible.

Belle noticed Gaston's discomfort and mentally bit her tongue. Of course Hervé was still a sore point with Gaston, after everything that had happened. How could she be so insensitive? Here she was, so happy at the chance to renew her friendship with him, and the first thing she did was mention the man he hated most, whom she had rejected him for. Stupid!

She talked quickly to cover the gaffe. "It really was a wonderful fair! The food, and the entertainment…I really liked the jugglers and the puppet show. And the contests were so much fun to watch! Did you know that Papa won first prize for his invention? I'm so proud of him. And two of my friends won the baking contest. And of course, you did very well today yourself! How many contests did you win, anyway?"

Gaston had to stop and think about it. He'd been winning contests all day and hadn't bothered to keep track. "Let's see, there was weightlifting…archery…pie-eating…sharp-shooting…wrestling…spitting…greased pig," he said, counting on his fingers. "Seven."

"Seven! Not bad!" she said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm very impressed." She raised her glass in a toast. "To contests and fairs! And…to old friends," she added a bit shyly.

"I'll drink to that," Gaston replied, clinking his glass against hers.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Hervé moved quickly through the woods, trying to ignore his trepidation. He disliked the outdoors even at the best of times. To be all alone in a dark, spooky forest, full of unfamiliar sounds, filled him with anxiety. How he longed to be back home in Orlèans, in his safe, warm, comfortable sitting room, with a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

Hurrying along, he looked up at the sky, streaked orange and red with sunset. He realized, with a jolt of fear, that if he was still in the forest an hour from now, it would be dark. He wouldn't be able to see a thing. He _had _to get back to Molyneaux before then.

A sharp "caw" practically startled him out of his skin. Looking to his left, he saw a crow on a nearby tree. He quickly moved on.

Then he suddenly stopped, disoriented. He had _thought _he was following the path, but…where was it? It had been growing fainter and less distinct as he walked…and then he had been looking at the sky, and the crow…and now there was no path at all.

He tried to overcome his rising panic. All right. Clearly he wasn't going to be able to get back to Molyneaux this way. It was time to give up. He would simply have to retrace his steps and follow the path back to Clermont-Ferrand. He would find Belle and her father and ride back with them, whenever they left.

Relieved at the thought of getting out of the forest, he turned and walked back the other way, looking for the path he had taken…but it was nowhere to be found. Somehow, in his walking, he must have made a mistake, taken a wrong turn.

He looked around him, trying to find some kind of landmark, but all he could see was trees, and they all looked alike. With a dawning feeling of horror, Hervé realized that he was hopelessly lost. He was trapped here in this dark, endless forest, with no way to get out. And night would be falling soon…and there might be wild animals…

He saw two glowing yellow eyes in front of him, and backed away fearfully, before the sound of "hoot, hoot" told him it was only an owl. He bumped into something behind him, and turned to see a large tree. Exhausted, he sank down in front of it, giving up.

Then he heard it…the haunting howl of a wolf. It was immediately joined by others. Hervé listened, terrified. They sounded like they were getting closer. A frightened whimper escaped him. He wrapped his arms around his knees, as though trying to make himself disappear, and looked around fearfully, his heart pounding, his bespectacled eyes as large and round as the owl's, wondering what would become of him.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o oo o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

The red-orange light of sunset streamed through the window of the tavern as Gaston listened to Belle. He glanced out the window and tried hard not to think about what Hervé was doing, lost in the forest as darkness fell…

"I'm so happy that Papa won the prize for best invention," Belle was saying. "So many people are interested in buying his woodcutting machine! One man even offered to go into business with him to build a lot more of them. It's so exciting – we've always dreamed of the day one of his inventions would be successful…"

"That's great, Belle," Gaston said, glancing at the window again. He tried to pay attention to what Belle was saying, but he found he couldn't concentrate. The thought of Hervé kept nagging at him. He didn't know why.

He _hated_ Hervé. What did he care if something happened to him? It wasn't _his _responsibility. He'd even tried to warn him. It was Hervé's fault for not listening. If Gaston hadn't happened to look up at that particular moment, he wouldn't have even _seen _Hervé go into the woods. He didn't owe the little weasel anything.

He forced himself to focus on Belle. This was his big chance to win her over. He couldn't blow it. She was alone with him, smiling at him, gazing at him…but he found that he couldn't even meet her eyes. She was sitting here, talking so happily, with no idea at all that the man she loved was in mortal danger.

_It's not my fault! _he thought defensively. _I didn't do anything wrong! I'm just sitting here, having a drink, just like everyone else. It's got nothing to do with me. It's not my fault if something happens to him._

Even though he was the only person with the power to _stop _it from happening…

He remembered how frightened Hervé had been when Gaston had merely _threatened _him, without even touching him. Lost in the woods, he'd be petrified. He wouldn't stand a chance. And then, if the wolves found him…Gaston couldn't suppress a shudder. It wasn't an easy way to die.

He threw back another drink, trying to dispel the image. _I CAN'T help him, _he argued with himself. _If I do, he'll marry Belle. I'll lose her forever. I'll never even see her again – he'll take her away. This is my only chance to have her._

All he had to do was sit here and do nothing, and his rival would be _gone._ It was a perfect setup. Belle would be his again, and she would marry him. She certainly would never blame him for Hervé's disappearance; Gaston had been here in plain sight all day, first at the fair and now in the tavern. There was no connection at all. Belle would never, ever know that Gaston could have saved Hervé.

But…Gaston would know.

He would always know.

_Damn._

"Gaston?" asked Belle. "Are you all right?"

"I think I need some fresh air," Gaston said. The crowded, smoke-filled tavern suddenly seemed too close, too hot, and he had a queasy feeling in his stomach. He stood up, about to go outside.

But as he did, the mayor of Clermont-Ferrand tapped a spoon against a glass, and the tavern fell silent. "Greetings, townspeople and visitors! I am happy to say that in my opinion, today was our best fair ever!" he shouted, and the crowd cheered. "And this year, we have a new award to give out: the Town Hero award, for the man who won the most contests during the day. As I'm sure you've all guessed, the prize goes to Gaston Avenant of Molyneaux!" The crowd cheered again. The mayor walked over to Gaston and handed him a gold trophy cup embossed with the words "Town Hero."

"Speech! Speech!" the people cried.

Gaston stared at the words on the cup.

_Hero. _

He was a hero. For hitting the most targets. For eating the most pies. For catching a greased pig.

For letting a man die.

He stood there, silent, struggling with himself.

_I don't WANT to do this._

_But…I have to._

He thrust the trophy at LeFou, who stared at him in astonishment. "Here. Take this. I have to go."

He grabbed his rifle and ran out the door, ignoring the confused calls behind him. He raced to the paddock where his horse Tristan was being kept, grabbed the fencepost with one hand and vaulted over, his eyes quickly locating Tristan among the other horses. With no time to lose, he didn't bother with a saddle or bridle. He ran toward his horse, leaped onto his back, and galloped off bareback. They leaped over the fence and thundered toward the forest, and the trail Hervé had taken.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

The whole tavern was buzzing with confusion, everyone wondering where on earth Gaston had gone in such a hurry.

Belle stared in bewilderment at the door through which Gaston had run. She didn't know what to think. When Gaston had first invited her to the tavern, she had been grateful. She certainly needed cheering up after the debacle with Hervé, and she was glad for the chance to rekindle her friendship with Gaston. She had missed him, and was relieved to see that he wasn't angry at her after all.

He had seemed cheerful enough when she first arrived at the tavern, offering her a seat and buying her a drink. But after only a few minutes, her heart sank. It was obvious that he wasn't listening to her. He barely even _looked _at her. He was clearly distracted, and restless, and kept glancing out the window. She wondered with a pang of jealousy if he was expecting that Klaske girl…not that she could blame him, given that she had been seeing Hervé. But still, it hurt her feelings to see that he wasn't paying attention to her at all.

Maybe she had misread his signals. Maybe he had invited her, not because he actually _wanted _to talk to her, but merely as an act of kindness, seeing that Hervé had left her high and dry. He _was _trying to be more polite these days, after all, and inviting a sad, lonely girl to the celebration was certainly a considerate gesture.

Such were her thoughts as she tried to hold up her end of the conversation.

But as she watched him more closely, she began to feel that there was more to it than that. Something was wrong. He wasn't bored, she realized; he was agitated, jumpy. And then, when they'd announced his special award…that was the strangest part of all. Gaston _loved _those kinds of accolades. Normally he would have jumped up, grinning proudly, thanked everyone for their applause, and made a big speech about how great he was.

But instead, he had just stood there silently, staring at the trophy with a look almost of horror. And then, without warning, he'd raced out of the tavern. What did it mean? She hoped everything was all right. But, like all the other mystified fairgoers, she could do nothing but wait for him to return.

O o o o o o o o o o o oo oo oo o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

The last rays of sunset lingered in the sky as Gaston galloped through the forest down the path Herve had taken, hoping he wasn't too late. When the trail ended, he slowed the horse, dismounted, and scanned the ground, looking for footprints, broken twigs or disturbed underbrush. He began slowly tracking Hervé. But after only a minute or two, he heard the sound of a wolf howl. Immediately he jumped back on the horse and followed the sound.

Within moments he burst into a clearing and quickly took in the scene. Hervé was cowering against an oak tree, while a mere 30 feet away, five wolves crept closer, closing in on him.

Gaston galloped his horse into the center of the clearing, getting between the wolves and their prey, and reached his hand out to the trembling scholar. "Come on!" he said urgently. "Get on!"

But Hervé stood rooted to the spot in fear, too terrified even to move. Gaston swore under his breath. The idiot was completely useless. Impatiently, Gaston jumped down from the horse, ready to grab Hervé and throw him bodily onto the horse's back if necessary.

But at that moment, the alpha wolf leaped at him. Its front paws smacked him square in the chest, knocking him to the ground, his rifle flying out of his hand.

Flat on his back with the wolf on his chest, Gaston instinctively threw up his left arm to protect his throat. The wolf sank its fangs deep into his arm. Gaston choked back a scream as searing agony shot through him. His arm felt as though it was on fire, and blood was running down his arm and soaking his shirt. He struggled not to pass out from the pain.

Thinking fast, he clenched his right hand into a fist and slammed it down on the wolf's tender nose as hard as he could. The wolf yelped, releasing its grip on his arm.

Gaston shoved the wolf off him as hard as he could, then quickly scrambled to his feet and grabbed his rifle as the wolf leaped again. He had no time to aim or shoot; all he could do was swing the rifle in an arc. The butt of the rifle smacked the wolf in the face, knocking it back a few feet.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gaston saw another wolf creeping closer to Tristan. But the horse reared up, whinnying, then slammed his front hooves down on the wolf, fracturing its skull. Despite the deadly urgency of the situation, Gaston felt a glow of pride in his horse. Tristan was too tough to go down without a fight.

The alpha wolf was crouching, ready to spring again. Gaston quickly aimed his rifle. As the wolf leaped, he fired, hitting it right between the eyes at point-blank range. The wolf dropped to the ground and lay still.

Seeing two wolves dead, the other three ran off. Gaston stood, breathing heavily, watching them go. He went to Tristan and looked him over carefully to make sure the horse was unharmed.

Then he went back to Hervé, who was shaking like a leaf. "You all right?"

With eyes big as saucers, Hervé stared at Gaston, then at his arm, which was bleeding profusely from the deep wound. It was all too much for Hervé's delicate nerves. Without a word, he fainted.

Gaston rolled his eyes. "Great," he muttered in disgust.

He ripped a strip of cloth off the bottom of his shirt and tied it around his arm as a makeshift bandage. Then he grabbed Hervé's limp form with his right hand and shoved him onto the horse's back,climbed on himself and headed back toward Clermont-Ferrand. It was slow going: the sun had set, and it was hard to see the path in the dim light of twilight. In addition, Gaston had to guide the horse with one arm wounded while simultaneously steadying Hervé's unconscious body to keep him from falling off. It had taken only a few minutes for Gaston to find Hervé as he galloped at top speech down the path, but the return trip took close to half an hour.

Finally they arrived. As the horse emerged from the woods, people surged forward excitedly. Belle was in the front. When she got close, she gasped, along with everyone else. Gaston was wounded and bloody, and Hervé was unconscious. "What happened?" Belle cried anxiously. "Are you all right? Is he all right?"

Gaston nodded, although truth be told, he was starting to feel a bit dizzy and lightheaded from the loss of blood. He got off the horse. "He's all right," he told Belle. "He just fainted. He was about to be attacked by wolves. But I stopped 'em."

Belle looked in concern at Gaston's arm. "But you! You're hurt!"

He shrugged. "One of the wolves bit me. It's not a big deal." He started to take a step forward, as if to prove that he was fine. But then he stopped, feeling dizziness overcome him. He stood unsteadily a moment, swaying, then fell to the ground as everything went black.


	23. Revelation

Gaston awoke in his own room in Molyneaux. His arm was throbbing, and he ached all over. Through the window, he could see that it was dark out. The room was lit by candlelight and a fire in the fireplace.

He turned his head and saw LeFou in one chair and the town doctor in another. "Oh, you're awake!" LeFou said delightedly.

"How do you feel?" asked the doctor.

Gaston shrugged, then winced as the movement sent pain shooting through his arm. "I'm all right, I guess," he said. "Arm hurts. What happened?"

"You came riding into Clermont-Ferrand, all bloody, and then you collapsed!" LeFou said excitedly. "Hervé told us all about how you saved him from those wolves – that was unbelievable! Well, not _unbelievable_ of course, because it was _you _that did it and you do stuff like that all the time, but—"

"I _know _that part!" Gaston interrupted. "What happened after that?"

"Oh," LeFou said. "The doc patched you up and we brought you back here."

The doctor nodded. "I cleaned the wound, stitched it up, and bandaged it," he said. "We weren't sure whether to let you recuperate in Clermont-Ferrand or bring you back to Molyneaux, but LeFou thought you'd be more comfortable in your own house."

Gaston nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

The doctor closed his bag and stood up. "You'll need to change the dressing every day – come by and I'll do it for you. Aside from that, just take it easy and don't use the arm too much. You'll be fine in a couple of weeks."

"Thanks, doc," Gaston said.

"Any time," the doctor assured him, and left.

"Gaston," LeFou said, "Belle is here. She's in the hall. She wants to see you."

"Belle?" Gaston's heart quickened.

LeFou nodded. "Actually, pretty much the whole town wanted to see you. The triplets were crying and everything. But the doc said you needed rest and shouldn't have too many visitors, so I told everyone to come back tomorrow. But I know how you feel about Belle, so I let her stay. The only thing is…she has Hervé with her," he added apologetically. "I couldn't think of a way to get rid of him, if Belle was staying, especially since he's the guy you saved and all."

Gaston didn't really want to see Hervé, but if it was the only way to see Belle, he supposed he had no choice. "All right. Send them in."

LeFou went to get them. Belle and Hervé entered the room, both looking simultaneously worried and relieved. Gaston stood up as they came in; he didn't want to look like some weak pathetic invalid.

"Gaston, how are you feeling?" Belle asked in concern.

"I'm fine," Gaston assured her. "It takes more than a few wolves to keep _me_ down."

"Apparently so," Hervé agreed admiringly. "I must confess that it was nothing short of awe-inspiring to see you arrive so boldly in the nick of time and single-handedly defeat such ferocious predators! Indeed, your uncommon strength and courage were such as to rival that of Hercules when he vanquished the Nemean lion!"

Gaston perked up. For once, he actually knew what Hervé was talking about. "Yeah, except I didn't choke the wolf to death," he reminded Hervé. "I had a gun. And I didn't get to skin it, either."

Hervé raised an eyebrow, impressed that Gaston was familiar with the mythological reference. "Very true!" he agreed. He hesitated, then went on, "It would seem that I have misjudged you on many counts, and for that, I abjectly apologize. I am forever indebted to you for your timely intervention, without which I most certainly would have met my demise. You are indeed a man of pure and noble character. For you to put aside the discord between us and voluntarily put yourself in harm's way on my behalf shows a spirit of true heroism, generosity and selflessness that deeply humbles me."

"Thanks," Gaston muttered, looking away and feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Normally he lapped up compliments as eagerly as a cat with cream. But he was all too aware of the fact that at first he had _not_ planned to go after Hervé. In fact, he had deliberately stayed away, in the hope that Hervé would be killed by the wolves. Hervé had no idea how close he had come to death because of Gaston. The scholar's lavish praise of his supposed nobility and selflessness made him feel guilty, like a complete fraud. He didn't hate Hervé anymore, and he was glad he hadn't died, but he fervently wished the guy would stop telling him how wonderful he was.

The door opened, and LeFou came in. "Gaston, the bookseller's housekeeper is here looking for Hervé." He stepped aside, and the plump housekeeper bustled in.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but your uncle sent me to fetch you. It seems you've gotten an important message. He wants you to come right away."

"Oh, by all means. Thank you, Mme. Cagnotte," Hervé said. He turned back to Gaston. "Again, you have my eternal gratitude. I shudder to think what would have occurred had you not arrived when you did."

Gaston winced. "Don't mention it." _Really. Don't._

Hervé bowed and left. LeFou, realizing that Gaston would welcome the chance to be alone with Belle, discreetly left the room and closed the door.

Belle smiled. "I'm so glad that Hervé is finally able to see what a good person you really are, how brave and noble you can be. You really _are _pretty impressive, you know!" Her eye fell on the trophy cup, which LeFou had left on the mantle for Gaston. She went over to look at it. "Town Hero – well, they certainly gave _that _to the right person!" she said, chuckling. "They handed you that trophy, and right away, you saved someone's life! Definitely hero material. To think that you fought off those wolves all by yourself--"

"I'm not a hero," Gaston broke in suddenly.

Belle looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean? Of course you are."

Gaston hesitated. Belle loved Hervé, and Gaston had almost caused his death. If he told her what he'd done, she would hate him. But he just couldn't stand it anymore, listening to her telling him over and over how wonderful and selfless and heroic he was.

He took a deep breath. "No. I knew Hervé was in trouble all along."

She frowned. "I don't understand."

He looked at her, and the words rushed out of him, as if he'd been holding them back too long. "When we saw Hervé after the greased pig contest. You told him to take the road through the woods. But he took the wrong path. I saw him. I called to him to tell him he was going the wrong way, but he didn't listen. I was going to go after him, but then…I didn't."

"Why not?" Belle asked, trying to make sense of this.

"Because of you," Gaston admitted. "He stole you from me. You liked him better than me. I saw him go the wrong way, and I _knew _he'd get lost. I knew the wolves might get him. But I didn't do anything. Because I thought, if he was gone, you'd come back to me."

Belle felt a chill go through her as the meaning of his words slowly sank in. "You were going to let him _die?"_

He looked her straight in the eye. "Yes."

She stared at him, overcome with horror. He looked away, unable to face her expression. She was looking at him as though he was a monster. But he knew he deserved it. He gave a wan half-smile, without mirth. "See? Not such a hero after all."

She was silent, trying to deal with the shock of it all. She suddenly remembered how strangely Gaston had acted in the tavern, how distracted and agitated. All that time she had been chatting with him so casually, he had been thinking about his rival - probably wondering if he was dead yet, she thought with a shudder.

She had always known that Gaston had a selfish streak, but to think he was capable of deliberately letting an innocent man die…it was so heartless, so _sinister._ Unconsciously she backed away from him, with a slight shiver. What kind of man could _do _something like that?

Gaston saw. Her look confirmed everything he'd been thinking and feeling himself since regaining consciousness. He didn't say anything. There was nothing to say.

He walked over to the bed and sat down wearily. Belle saw him wince involuntarily as his wounded arm bumped slightly against the night table. Her eye went to his bandaged arm. She frowned in confusion. He had had truly evil intentions, he had planned to let Hervé die…but he hadn't actually _done_ it. In the end, he'd risked his own life to save Hervé. Why? It didn't add up.

And…why had he _told _her about it, knowing full well that it would make her think badly of him? Usually he did everything he could to impress her and make himself look good. In fact, thinking about it, she realized that he hadn't even tried to defend himself. Every other time he'd been in trouble with her, he was full of rationalizations and excuses - why he'd acted the way he did, why it wasn't _really _his fault, why she shouldn't be angry. But this time, he hadn't defended his actions at all. And she could see that he wasn't expecting forgiveness.

Instead, he had looked her right in the eye and told her in the harshest words possible that he'd done a terrible thing, that he _wasn't_ a hero…and then sat down, wincing in pain from a wound he had gotten fighting off wolves to save the life of a man he hated.

She watched him as he sat on the bed. He was silent, staring off into space, with such a haunted look in his eyes. Suddenly she understood. He felt guilty about what he'd almost done. That must be why he had felt the need to tell her the truth. It was eating at him, and he had to tell her.

She felt an unexpected stirring of compassion for him. _He must be so confused_, she thought. She knew that before he'd met her, he had never questioned his own actions. After all, he was the town hero, the perfect man - he could do no wrong. He had lived a purely selfish life, believing he was entitled to have whatever he wanted and that anything he did was justified. He had never thought at all about right and wrong, only about winning and losing. A year ago, she realized, he probably _would _have let Hervé die, simply because it was the most effective way to get what he wanted, and that was all that mattered to him.

But now he saw things differently. He saw _people_ differently, not just as a means to an end. Faced with a choice, he'd automatically started to follow his usual selfish instincts, ready to let his rival die for his own benefit - but his conscience had stopped him. As hard as it must have been, he had triumphed over his inner darkness and selfishness and had done the right thing. And not just the right thing, but a truly noble act. She had to admit that not many people would be willing to risk their own life to rescue someone they despised.

Gaston wasn't perfect – no one was, certainly not herself. But he was trying so hard to do better, struggling to find a new way, after a lifetime of thinking only of himself. He deserved a trophy for that alone, she thought.

She went over to the bed and sat down next to him. "Gaston," she said in a gentler tone.

He looked at her, his eyes vulnerable but resigned, the look of a condemned man awaiting his sentence. Her heart went out to him.

"What made you change your mind?" she asked.

He blinked in surprise, caught off-guard by the question. "What?"

"You said you were going to let Hervé die," Belle pointed out. "But you didn't. You went after him. Why?"

"Oh." Gaston shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't _want_ to help him. But I kept seeing him out there, all alone, and the wolves closing in on him…I just couldn't go through with it." He was silent a moment. "He almost _died_ because of me, Belle. Two minutes more and those wolves would have torn him to shreds. He would have been dead. I was almost too late."

She nodded in understanding. "I know." She put her hand on his. "Gaston…do you remember the night we read the Achilles book? And we were talking about heroes?"

He nodded.

"I told you then what I think a hero is. To me, a hero is someone who's willing to risk his life or whatever he loves most to save others. Someone who does the right thing, even when he doesn't want to – even when it would be so easy, and so tempting, to just turn away and do nothing." She looked into his eyes. "I know that you didn't want to save Hervé. But…you did anyway. _That's_ what matters. You _are _a hero. At least, to me."

He looked at her in surprise and wonder. "Really?" He had fully expected her to hate him after what he had told her.

"Really," she said reassuringly. Then, with a smile, she added, "But next time, don't take so long, okay? You cut it a little too close there!"

He grinned back, overwhelmed with relief. "I won't," he promised.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Gaston looked at Belle, smiling at him so affectionately. She had forgiven him, and she still thought he was a hero after all. He could feel that warmth, that emotional connection of friendship between them again, just as it was before Hervé had ever come, all awkwardness vanished. And…he was alone with her. He realized that this was the perfect moment to tell her how he truly felt about her, how much he loved her, and to finally recite the poem to her. He would never have a better opportunity than this.

"Belle…" he began.

"Yes?" she asked.

The sudden sound of the door opening startled them both. Hervé burst in, looking excited. "Belle, I sincerely apologize for the interruption, but I must speak to you at once. It is a matter of utmost importance."

"Oh…" Belle looked from Hervé to Gaston and back again, conflicted. She didn't want to leave Gaston, but Hervé sounded urgent. She had to find out what was going on. "All right." She stood up.

"Belle—" Gaston said, his eyes flicking from her to Hervé. Why did he have to show up _now?_

"It's all right," she said reassuringly. "You should get some rest anyway. I'll come see you tomorrow, I promise." She smiled at him, then left with Hervé.

As they walked out, LeFou came in the room and walked over to Gaston. Glancing at the door to make sure they were gone, he said to Gaston eagerly, "How did it go? Any luck with Belle?"

"Yes…no," Gaston said, frustrated. "I told her the truth about what happened."

"The truth?" LeFou said, puzzled.

Gaston nodded. He wasn't worried about telling LeFou; he knew his friend would be loyal to him no matter what. He told the little man the whole story: how he had seen Hervé going the wrong way; how it had occurred to him that if Hervé died, he would have no more competition and could get Belle back; how he had decided to simply do nothing at all, and let nature take its course. "So I went to the tavern, all set to spent the evening with Belle and win her back," he went on. "But then…I started to feel bad about Hervé. I knew the poor little wimp didn't stand a chance, all alone in the woods. He was going to die if I didn't do something about it. So finally, I went after him and saved him."

"Oh." LeFou digested this for a moment. "So you told Belle all about it? How did she take it?"

"She wasn't happy about it at first, but then she understood," Gaston said. "We talked it out. Things are good between us now. She likes me again." A note of exasperation crept into his voice. "So I was just about to tell her I love her, and tell her the poem. But then Hervé came in and took her away before I could say anything!"

"Oh, no!" LeFou said sympathetically. "Just when you were so close!"

Gaston nodded. "I know!"

"Is she coming back?" LeFou asked.

"She said she'd come back tomorrow."

"Oh, so you can tell her you love her then!" LeFou suggested.

"I guess I'll have to," Gaston said with a sigh, leaning back against the pillow.

"It's too bad she had to leave, though," LeFou said. "I wonder what Hervé had to tell her that was so important?"

At the question, Gaston abruptly sat up straight. Suddenly he remembered how excited Hervé had sounded. _A matter of the utmost importance…_His eyes widened. It was so obvious!

"LeFou! He's going to ask her to _marry_ him!" he exclaimed. "He's doing it right now!" Why hadn't he realized it sooner?

LeFou frowned. "Are you sure? Wasn't he supposed to wait a couple of weeks, to make it 'proper,' or something? And Emile said the ring wasn't ready yet."

"I know, but it _has_ to be that. What else could be so important?" Gaston looked at the door. "I have to go talk to her!"

"But Gaston, the doc said you're supposed to be resting," LeFou reminded him. "You have to take it easy. Can't you talk to her tomorrow?"

"No. Tomorrow will be too late. I have to see her _now!"_He leapedup, ignoring the pain in his arm."I'm going to find her."

"Well…All right. Good luck," LeFou said worriedly.

Gaston headed out the door, full of determination.


	24. Epiphany

Hervé took Belle's hand and walked quickly toward his uncle's house. Belle could see how excited he was. She hurried to keep up. "Hervé, what is this about?"

"Not here. Wait till we get inside."

Once inside, Hervé closed the door and led Belle into the sitting room. She sat down, but he remained standing, ready to make his announcement. He beamed at her. "Belle…I believe I mentioned to you that I had applied for a position at the Sorbonne in Paris. It's the most prestigious university in all of France – an appointment there would advance my career immeasurably, as well as put me in company with the finest literary minds in the entire country. Well, today I received word from the dean and the board of trustees informing me that they are offering me the position! The dean said that he is well aware of my published works and is deeply impressed with my thoroughness, scholarship, and erudition. I am being hired as a professor of literature, but in his letter, he confided that he would not be surprised if I rose to become head of the entire literature department in the foreseeable future."

Belle gasped. "Hervé, that's wonderful!" she said sincerely. "I'm so happy for you! You must be thrilled."

"Indeed I am," Hervé said proudly. "However, I am afraid this means that I must leave Molyneaux sooner than anticipated - tomorrow morning, in fact. I have already written back to accept the offer, but there is so much to arrange before the start of term! I must first go back to Orlèans and tender my resignation there, and make sure all the student files and lesson plans are in order for my successor. I must also give notice to my landlady, and pack up all my belongings and have them shipped to Paris. Then I need to travel to Paris, secure lodgings for myself, and meet in person with the dean and board of trustees at my new university. I must familiarize myself with the procedures and curriculum there, and study the files on my new students, and organize my lesson plans for the upcoming term…" He shook his head in amazement. "I shall be very busy in the upcoming weeks!"

Belle smiled. "I'm sure you'll do fine. You're the most organized person I know! But we'll miss you here in Molyneaux." She _was_ genuinely happy for Hervé – she knew it was an important opportunity for him. And, selfishly, she also felt a wave of relief that she wouldn't have to have that awkward talk with him after all. The simple fact that he was leaving Molyneaux brought a natural end to their relationship.

"Yes…actually, that brings me to another matter I need to discuss with you," Hervé admitted. He hesitated a moment, then went on. "I must first apologize sincerely for the unexpected abruptness of my proposition. I had planned to wait a few more weeks, and do this in a more proper, dignified and gradual way. But as I said, this news requires me to depart immediately, which necessitates a certain unavoidable haste in my offer to you."

"Offer?" Belle said, getting a sinking feeling.

Hervé cleared his throat. "Yes. Belle, as you know, we have been courting for quite some time. I'm sure you are well aware of the high esteem in which I hold you. Indeed, it is no exaggeration to say that you are the most intelligent, insightful, agreeable and articulate woman it has ever been my good fortune to encounter. I have enjoyed our discussions, and your company, immensely. We possess a similar level of intellect and share an affinity for fine literature. In short, it seems to me that we are highly compatible, and in fact ideally suited to each other. With this in mind, I believe that it would be mutually beneficial, as well as greatly pleasurable, for the two of us to enter into a state of matrimony. What say you, Belle?" Having concluded his presentation, he watched her expectantly.

Belle looked at him in dismay. Apparently she wasn't going to be able to avoid an awkward conversation after all. "You want to _marry _me?" His formal language made it sound like a business merger.

Hervé nodded. "Precisely."

"Hervé, I…I'm speechless," Belle said, taken aback. "I don't know what to say."

"Well, I am rather hoping that you will reply in the affirmative," Hervé said with a smile.

Belle tried to think of something diplomatic to say. She didn't _dislike _Hervé; he was polite and intelligent, and he certainly knew a lot about books. She would have been more than happy to have him as a tutor or a literature professor. But as a husband, a lover, a soulmate to pledge her life to? No. She could truthfully say that she had never, ever dreamed of a man who would look into her eyes and tell her he "held her in high esteem."

Hervé was waiting for her answer. Belle took a deep breath.

"Hervé, I'm truly flattered that you want to marry me," Belle said. "It's an amazing compliment, really. But… I just can't."

Hervé's face fell in disappointment. "Why ever not, Belle?"

Belle felt uncomfortable. She didn't want to hurt his feelings. "I do admire you," she said truthfully. "I think you're a brilliant man, and I've learned so much from you about literature. But I just…I don't _love _you, Hervé. I'm sorry."

"Ah. I see," Hervé said. He was silent a moment. "You're seeking the grand passion, the 'Romeo and Juliet' all-encompassing 'true love' of great literature and fairy tales, yes?"

"Something like that," Belle admitted.

"Well, I'll be truthful with you, Belle," Hervé said. "Speaking only for myself, I believe that sort of 'all-consuming love' is purely a literary convention, found only in books. In real life, such a fiery emotion is likely to be merely a strong physical attraction, a lustful desire that may well burn out quickly, rather than a lasting and permanent attachment. Personally, I believe that in looking for a mate, one should choose someone with whom one is compatible: someone of a congenial temperament and of similar intellect as oneself, who shares one's interests and values, and is desirous of the same lifestyle."

"You're not wrong," Belle said honestly. "I actually agree with you that passion _alone _doesn't make a relationship. I feel that it's very important to marry someone who is your best friend as well as a romantic partner, someone whom you feel close to and share things with. That's vital. And it's also important to want the same things out of life. But Hervé…I don't think it can _just_ be a checklist: 'this person is smart, she likes books, we get along pretty well'…and that's _all_ there is I believe that to truly _love_ a person, there needs to be more to it than that – a powerful emotional connection, a feeling that this person is the _one, _the soulmate you've been waiting for all your life."

"As always, Belle, you express yourself in a compelling and articulate way, even when we disagree," Hervé said diplomatically.

"Anyway, Hervé, even if we _do_ go just by what you said – someone compatible who likes the same things – I _still_ don't think it would work out between us," Belle pointed out. "You've told me that you want a peaceful, predictable life, and you don't like surprises or adventure at all. But me…I _love_ surprises and adventure! _And_ country fairs," she added with a wink.

Hervé smiled ruefully, remembering his unpleasant experiences at the fair. "That is indeed a valid point," he acknowledged. "Perhaps our inclinations are not in fact as similar as I had originally surmised. But Belle, I would strongly urge you to reconsider your decision. Think about your future! Surely you can't spend your entire life in an obscure backwater town like this. If you marry me, you will live in Paris. You will be surrounded by bookstores and museums, and associate with intellectuals who appreciate literature, not illiterate rustics who think reading is outlandish. You'll finally be able to move _away_ from this provincial village. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"It _was _what I wanted," she said slowly. "But…it's not anymore." She realized to her surprise that it was true. She still would like to see Paris someday, but she didn't want to leave Molyneaux forever. She thought of Monique and Cecile and Amelie, of Raoul and Renaud. Most of all, of Gaston. She was accepted here now, and she had come to genuinely like and care about the village and its people. And they cared about her, too.

"I've grown to like Molyneaux, Hervé. My friends are here. My home is here." _Gaston is here. _But she didn't say that. "I've discovered that there's a lot more to this town, and the people here, than I ever realized. Things aren't always what they seem on the surface."

"Well, I have to concede that you do have a point," Hervé admitted. "For example, I never would have imagined that the man who so crudely threatened me would end up being the one to save my life."

"Exactly!" Belle said. "Life is full of surprises. That's what I love about it."

"So you have said. Although I hope you will understand why I myself look forward to returning to the ivory towers of academia, a peaceful and secure environment that most assuredly _lacks_ such surprises as life-threatening attacks by wild animals."

"Yes," Belle said, smiling. "I do understand. People have to do what's right for them, what will make them happy. This job sounds like a wonderful opportunity for you."

"It is. Although I must confess that I am deeply disappointed that you will not be joining me there."

"I know," Belle said apologetically. "I hope I didn't hurt your feelings."

"Belle, I think it would be impossible for you to truly hurt anyone's feelings – you are far too kind and warmhearted for that," Hervé said gallantly. "As I told you from the start, I never wished to make you uncomfortable, and never felt that you were under any obligation to me. Although admittedly I had hoped that your decision would be otherwise, I cannot do other than respect your wishes. And as I have told you, merely meeting you and spending time in your presence has made my visit here more than worthwhile."

"Thank you, Hervé. I enjoyed our talks too," Belle said. "In fact…I was wondering, could you possibly send me some of the books you wrote? I'd be interested in reading them."

Hervé looked flattered. "If course, if you believe they would be of interest to you."

"Yes, absolutely," Belle said. She meant it: she did find his intellectual analysis fascinating to a point, as long as she could combine it with her own emotional feelings about a book. And put it down when she got tired of it.

"Oh, and since I will be in Paris, do you still want me to ask Jacques de Vaucanson to get in touch with your father?"

"Would you?" Belle was delighted. "That's very kind of you."

"I did give my word," he reminded her. "And I do think your father has a most creative and ingenious mind. He deserves to get recognition for his achievements."

"I appreciate that, Hervé," Belle said. She hesitated. "Well…I should probably go now. I wish you all the best in Paris. And, who knows? Maybe you'll find the perfect bride for you there!"

Hervé chuckled. "Perhaps. But she would have to be very impressive indeed to hold a candle to you, Belle."

"Thank you," Belle said with a smile. "But I mean it, Hervé. I feel certain that the right woman for you is out there, just waiting for you."

"Well, I will hope that you are right," Hervé replied. "Farewell, Belle. Thank you for making my stay so memorable. I, too, wish you all the best in your future endeavors."

As Belle left the house, she was overcome with relief, as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Now that things were officially over with Hervé, she realized what a strain it had been, trying to force herself to feel something for him that simply wasn't there. She started toward home, feeling suddenly carefree.

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Gaston had been running as he turned the corner, but he stopped short as he saw Belle emerge from the bookseller's house. His heart sank. She had already finished her talk with Hervé! And she looked happy, even buoyant.

It was true, then: Hervé had proposed, and she had accepted. He was too late.

But he still had to talk to her. Hopeless or not, he wasn't going to turn back now. He had to _try. _As she came toward the corner, he stepped out of the shadows in front of her, looking determined.

She looked up in surprise. "Gaston? What are you doing out here? You're supposed to be resting," she said in concern. He looked so serious and intense.

"I'm all right," he said dismissively. "But I need to talk to you. I have something to tell you."

Belle looked up at him and smiled. "I have something to tell you too."

Gaston held up his hand quickly. "No. Not yet. Let me talk first." He didn't want to hear that she had agreed to marry Hervé. As long as she didn't tell him, it wasn't really true, and he could say his piece.

He led her to a bench by the general store. She sat down, looking up at him curiously.

He looked at her and blurted out, "Belle, what I have to tell you is…I love you." She gasped. He went on without stopping. He couldn't have stopped now if he'd wanted to. After holding back his true feelings for so long, it was like a dam being removed, and the words poured out of him like a flood. "I've loved you for a long time. I didn't tell you before because you kept saying you only wanted to be friends, and you don't like to be pushed, and you want to make your own choices. I didn't want to scare you off. But now, I _have _to tell you. I love you, Belle. I want you. I need you. I can't live without you."

"Gaston—" Belle said.

"No, wait, let me finish," Gaston said quickly. She couldn't turn him down. Not yet. "Listen, Belle. I know you like all that fancy book stuff that Hervé says. But I can do that too! I'll do anything I have to to make you happy. And to prove it…" He hesitated, praying she wouldn't laugh at him. "I learned a poem for you."

"A _poem?_" Belle was stunned. "You learned a poem?"

He nodded. "Do you want to hear it?"

"Yes," Belle said, amazed.

"Okay." Gaston cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and began to recite, slowly and carefully.

He stumbled a couple of times, and he mispronounced "sought" as "sowt," and at one point, for one terrifying moment, his mind went blank. Belle saw the panic in his eyes, and she bit her lip, praying with all her heart that he'd remember the next line. He was trying _so _hard; more than anything, she wanted him to succeed. But then, to her relief, she saw his look of triumph as the words came back to him, and he finished the poem without any major mistakes:

"Like as a huntsman after weary chase,  
Seeing the game from him escaped away,  
Sits down to rest him in some shady place  
With panting hounds beguiled of their prey;  
So, after long pursuit and vain assay,  
When I all weary had the chase forsook,  
The gentle deer returned the selfsame way,  
Seeking to quench her thirst at the next brook.  
There she, beholding me with milder look,  
Sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide,  
Till I in hand her yet half trembling took,  
And with her own goodwill her firmly tied.  
Strange thing, me seemed, to see a beast so wild  
So goodly won, and with her own will beguiled."

The poem finished, Gaston beamed at Belle, looking hopeful. "What do you think?"

For a moment, Belle was unable to speak. To think that he had done this for her…She had heard Gaston read aloud before. She knew how much he hated it, how hard he had to struggle just to get through a single line. She could only imagine the hours of effort and tedious practice it had taken him to not only _read _a sonnet, but to actually _memorize _it and be able to recite it for her.

All this time she had been waffling and prevaricating and pushing him away – first saying they couldn't see each other at all, then insisting that they could only be friends, then telling him that maybe there _was _a chance for romance between them after all, only to reject him in favor of Hervé…through all her confused feelings and all her mixed signals, Gaston had loved her. His love had never wavered.

And while he was working so hard to prove his love for her, determined to master a task that he found almost impossibly difficult just to please her…she had chosen to spend her time with a bland, passionless man who wouldn't even go to a fair with her. A man who "esteemed" her.

"Belle?" Gaston was anxiously waiting for her answer.

She looked at him with tears in her eyes. "Oh, Gaston," she said softly, inexpressibly touched by his gesture. "I…I just don't deserve you."

Immediately she saw him misunderstand, saw the hope leave his eyes. He looked away, his shoulders sagging – the look of a man who had gambled everything and lost. "Yeah," he said with a heavy sigh. "I guess the bookseller was right, then. You deserve to be with—"

But before he could finish, he was silenced by Belle's lips on his, kissing him with all her heart, her arms around him.

When she let go, Gaston just stared at her in utter surprise and wonder. Then he grabbed her and pulled her to him, holding her tightly despite his wounded arm, as though he'd never let her go. He kissed her urgently, hungrily, endless kisses full of all the longing and passion and need he had been holding back for months. When he finally released her, she was breathless and weak in the knees, practically swooning.

As she had suspected, it was not at all like Hervé's kisses.

"Belle…" he said, his voice husky, his blue eyes questioning.

She took a moment to catch her breath and recover. Then she said, "Gaston, what I was going to tell you is that Hervé proposed to me. But I turned him down."

"You did?" Gaston was thrilled. Belle nodded and sat back down on the bench. Gaston sat beside her.

"Yes," Belle said. "He wasn't for me. He does know a lot about books, but he's just so fussy, and timid, and he hates adventure, and he wants everything to be completely routine and predictable. There's no life or passion to him. But you know what the biggest problem with Hervé was?"

"What?" Gaston asked curiously.

She smiled shyly. "He wasn't you."

Gaston grinned proudly, puffing out his chest. "Well, of course not! _No one_ is me! I'm one of a kind."

"You certainly are," she agreed, moving closer to him and leaning against him. "You're brave, and adventurous, and funny…"

"And handsome, and strong, and the best hunter in the world…" Gaston reminded her.

Belle laughed. "And _modest…"_ she teased.

He put his arm around her shoulder and gave her an affectionate squeeze. "Admit it, I'm just irresistible," he said with a grin.

She smiled. "You do have a way of growing on a girl," she said fondly. "I still can't believe you memorized a whole poem! I never expected you to do something like that."

"I told you I'm full of surprises," Gaston said proudly.

"You certainly are!" Belle agreed. "That's why I love you."

_Love. _She'd finally said it, after all this time. Gaston kissed her again. He couldn't stop himself. The idea that he could now kiss her anytime he wanted… He was definitely going to make up for lost time.

Belle melted into his arms as he kissed her. It just felt so warm and so _right _with him, like coming home. She felt that this was where she belonged. She looked up at him. "It was a beautiful poem, Gaston. But it must have been hard to memorize."

He nodded. "It was. But it was worth it. I'd do anything to make you happy, Belle," he said seriously, gazing into her eyes. "I'd learn a hundred poems if I had to." He paused, suddenly looking worried. "I don't have to, do I?"

Belle laughed. "No, one was enough," she said, her eyes twinkling. "I think more than that would be cruel and unusual punishment."

"Good," Gaston said, relieved. He'd rather face that pack of wolves again than have to memorize another poem.

Belle smiled. "So…do you want me to tell you what that poem is about?"

Gaston was insulted. "I _know _what it's about. I'm smarter than I look, remember?"

Belle looked embarrassed. "That's right, you are."

"It's about a guy who loves a girl, and he keeps chasing after her like a hunter going after a deer," he told her. "But no matter what he does or how much he chases her, he can't get her. So finally, he gives up. He thinks it's hopeless. But once he stops chasing her…that's when she comes to him." He reached out and brushed Belle's hair off her face affectionately. "I guess she didn't want anyone pushing her around or telling her what to do. She wanted to make her own choices."

"Maybe," Belle said, gazing into his blue eyes. "Or maybe, once he stopped chasing her, she suddenly realized how much she missed him, how important he'd become to her. Maybe she became afraid that he was gone from her life forever. So she came running back to him. She finally realized that she loved him."

"Yeah?" Gaston said, pleased.

Belle smiled. "Maybe," she teased.

He was still looking into her eyes, holding her gaze. "You know…there's more to books and poems than I thought."

"Mm-hmm," Belle agreed. "And there's more to this town than _I _thought. _You_ taught me that. You taught me a lot of things."

"Really?" Gaston was proud to think he could have taught her something.

She nodded, leaning against him. "I used to think this village was so dull," she explained. "I spent all my time reading, living in imaginary worlds, not seeing what was around me. I wanted to escape from here – to escape my life, really. I kept thinking there was some perfect world out there, some fantastic place I could _go_ to that would give me all the adventure I want.

"But being with you…it opened my eyes, Gaston," she went on earnestly. "There's been a change in me…a kind of 'moving on,' you could say. Now I feel that adventure isn't a place to _go_ to – it's something _within_ us, something we make for ourselves, no matter where we are." She looked up at him seriously. "I never thought I'd leave my childhood dreams behind, but now I feel as though a whole new life is beginning for me. A truer life. For the first time, I feel that I'm exactly where, and who, I want to be. It's exciting." She smiled. "Besides, being with you is an adventure in itself!"

He grinned proudly. "That's true!"

"Of course, I still _would_ like to see other places someday," Belle continued. "I'd love to go to Paris, or even other countries: England, Portugal, Spain, Greece, maybe even China or Japan! I think it would be wonderful to travel, and see other places and other people. But just to _see_ them, just for a visit - then I'll always want to come back here to Molyneaux. I belong here now. It's my home. _You're _my home." She smiled and added fondly, "Even though you drive me crazy sometimes!"

He laughed and chucked her under the chin. "You drive me crazy too! Stubbornest girl I ever met." He shook his head and added, "But that's what makes it fun. Keeps it from being boring."

"Yes," she agreed, snuggling up to him.

Gaston grinned. "I always _knew_ I could make you happy, if you'd just let me. Shows how much that bookseller knows!"

Belle frowned. "That's the second time you've mentioned him. What about the bookseller?"

Gaston scowled at the memory. "When I went to get the poetry book, he told me I should give up on you. He said I could never make you happy. Only _Hervé _could make you happy, because he says all that fancy stuff about books that you like, and he could take you to Paris. He said if I really loved you, I would stay away from you and leave you alone."

Belle stared at him in disbelief. "He really said that?" Her lips pressed together in anger. She was livid. "How _dare _he! Who is _he_ to decide what will make me happy? That's up to _me,_ not him! He had no right to tell you to stay away from me!"

Gaston grinned at her outrage. She was such a spitfire, his Belle. _His Belle._ He savored the words. They really were true now. "Are you going to go yell at him?" he asked eagerly. "And can I watch?"

She smiled. "Maybe tomorrow," she said. "Right now…I just want to be with you."

"How about we go back to your house?" Gaston suggested. "You can read me that book you were telling me about, with that hero fighting that monster called Grendel."

"That sounds wonderful," Belle said. She was looking forward to reading again with someone who got _excited _about the story, who was swept away by it and found it thrilling. They stood up and started to walk back toward her house, Gaston's arm around Belle's shoulders. "And Gaston…once your arm is better, can we go back in the woods again? We never did finish that horseback ride."

"Sure," Gaston said. "It's getting on toward winter; I'll show you how to track in the snow. Teach you all the different kinds of tracks."

Belle pictured that: the woods covered in a white blanket, silent and still, all sound muffled by the snow, the bare tree branches coated in ice so they shown like silver…Gaston's strong arms around her, keeping her warm, as he pointed out things she'd never noticed… "That would be lovely," she said with a happy sigh. _And he won't be offended if I throw a snowball at him. _"Maybe we could go on a sleigh ride, too," she suggested.

"Good idea," Gaston said.

As they passed the tavern, they were spotted by Claude, Francois and LeFou, who were about to enter. "Gaston!" Francois said. "You're up and about already?"

Gaston nodded. "It was only a pack of vicious wolves. That's nothing to _me,_" he bragged.

"Great. Coming into the tavern?" Claude said. "We'll buy you a drink. You can tell us how you fought them off!"

For an instant, Gaston was tempted. There was nothing he loved better than an admiring audience. But he glanced at the girl beside him, the girl he'd wanted for so long, and knew that nothing was more important than her right now. "Not tonight, guys. I'll tell you tomorrow. Right now we're going to Belle's house."

Francois smirked. "Belle's house? What are you going to do there – read _books?_" he joked.

Gaston stepped forward and glared down at him. "Yeah. We're gonna read books," he said menacingly. "Got a problem with that?"

Francois's smirk vanished. He gulped. "Uh…no. No problem," he said hastily.

"Belle has books about heroes like me, fighting monsters and having adventures," Gaston said. "They're almost as exciting as _my _stories. You all like _my_ stories, right?" he added, looking around the group as if daring them to disagree.

"Sure!" "Of course!" the men said quickly.

"Good," Gaston said firmly. "That's what Belle's books are like. So we're going to go read some. But I'll see you at the tavern tomorrow. And I'll tell you all about how I fought off those wolves with my bare hands and saved Hervé," he boasted, puffing out his chest. "Now _that's _a story!"

"Okay, Gaston," his friends said.

Belle smiled, glad that Gaston was finally able to admit publicly that liking books wasn't so terrible after all.

The men watched Gaston start to walk off, his arm around Belle. They were looking pretty cozy. "Hey, Gaston," Claude asked curiously. "So…are you and Belle still just friends, like you said?"

Gaston glanced at Belle. "Nope. She's _my _girl now," he said proudly. "No girl's better than Belle! She's beautiful, _and _she's the smartest girl in town. That makes her the best."

LeFou grinned. "It sure does!" he agreed, happy to see that Gaston had won Belle after all.

Claude and Francois looked at each other in confusion. Gaston bragging about how _smart _a girl was? Then they shrugged. Whatever Gaston said, that was the way it was. _They_ certainly weren't going to argue with him. "Sure, Gaston," Claude said. "Whatever you say. We'll see you tomorrow."

With a wave, Gaston and Belle headed back to her house. As they were about to enter, Gaston stopped her. "Wait."

"What?" Belle asked.

"This." He took her in his arms and kissed her again.

Belle sighed happily. "Mmm…you know, a girl could get used to that."

"I hope not," Gaston said, grinning. "Then it wouldn't be exciting."

She laughed. "You're _always_ exciting." She kissed him back.

"You got that right," Gaston agreed, and they entered the house.

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_AN: Just to let you know, the story's not quite over yet! It's winding down, but there's a few more chapters left. Stay tuned!_


	25. A Modest Proposal

Gaston was awakened next morning by the insistent ache in his arm. He and Belle had had a wonderful evening, but by the time he returned home, his arm had been acting up and he was in a lot of pain – not that he would ever have let on. He'd drunk some whiskey before bed, which did the job of dulling the pain and letting him sleep, but now it was aching again.

He got up and was faced with the awkward task of getting dressed using only one arm. With a lot of difficulty, he finally managed to get into his clothes, but it was a major struggle. He realized he would have to ask LeFou to come by in the mornings and help him out until his arm healed. He grimaced. He could handle the pain, that was no problem, but he _hated _to be weak and crippled like this, having trouble with even such a simple task as getting dressed.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tapping at his door. Probably LeFou, he thought. Figured that he'd come by when Gaston was already done. "Come in," he called, ready to tell his friend to come earlier next time.

But to his pleasure, it was Belle who entered. She was carrying an armful of supplies, which she put on the table. "What's all that?" Gaston asked.

"I stopped by the doctor and got all the things you need to change your dressing," Belle told him. "I thought I could do it for you, so you don't have to get up. You need to rest. And…" She smiled. "I brought you some chicken soup."

"Really?" Gaston was delighted, but surprised. He had resigned himself to the idea that Belle just wasn't the domestic type. But although Belle didn't exactly love housework, and resented the idea that a woman's job was to slavishly wait on men hand and foot, she _did _have a warm, loving nature, and was happy to care for someone she loved who was sick or injured.

Belle sat on the side of the bed and carefully unwrapped the bandages on his arm. She peered at the wound. "Well, it looks much better than when you showed up bleeding yesterday. But it must hurt a lot," she said sympathetically.

Gaston debated which would be better: milking the sympathy angle by telling her he was in agony, or being brave and manly and heroic? He decided on the second option. "Oh, it's nothing to me," he assured her boastfully. "I'm tough enough to take it."

But he couldn't help flinching when she dabbed ointment on the wound, although she tried to be as gentle as she could. He gritted his teeth, determined not to show how much it hurt. She glanced at him with an understanding smile. "I'm almost done," she assured him. She gently wrapped his arm in clean bandages.

"You make a good nurse," he told her admiringly.

She smiled. "Thanks. Now, here, have this soup. I just made it." She brought the bowl to him. He held it in his right hand, but Belle could see him frown as he tried to figure out how to manage it, with his other arm wounded. "Here, let me help you," she said. She sat down next to him, took the spoon, spooned up some soup and brought it to his lips.

To have Belle sitting right on his bed, so close to him, looking so incredibly beautiful and so concerned as she lovingly fed him…Gaston was in heaven. There were some advantages to being crippled after all, he thought. "You know, a fellow could get used to this," he told her.

She laughed. "Don't get _too _used to it," she warned him playfully, giving him another spoonful. "I just thought you deserved a little coddling, since you're wounded."

"Hmmm," Gaston said, grinning. "I guess I'll just have to get wounded more often, then."

"You'd better not!" Belle admonished him. "I was worried enough about you _this_ time, thank you very much!"

"You were?" he said, pleased to hear it.

She looked at him seriously, not joking now. "Yes. When you showed up bleeding so badly, and then collapsed…I was scared," she admitted.

He took her small, soft hand in his strong, calloused one. The mere touch of his hand sent a thrill through her. Just being with him made all her senses come alive.

"You should have known you couldn't get rid of me _that _easily," Gaston said. "Face it, you're stuck with me."

"I'm glad to hear it," she said softly, looking into his blue eyes. She cleared her throat, trying not to show the effect he had on her. "So…do you want me to read to you now?"

He shook his head. "Nah. Let's go out."

"But you're supposed to be resting!" she protested.

He sighed in frustration. "I know. But I can't just lie in bed all day, Belle. I'll go crazy! Let's at least take a walk. I promise I won't use the arm."

"Well…all right," Belle said. "I do have some books to return to the bookseller." She frowned. "That reminds me – I have to talk to him about what he said to you. He had no right to talk to you that way."

"Yeah, you tell him!" Gaston said cheerfully, enjoying the thought of someone else bearing the brunt of one of Belle's lectures for a change.

They headed outside, Gaston's good arm around Belle's shoulders. It felt great finally to be able to show her off and let the whole world see that she was his girl, instead of having to hold back and pretend they were just friends.

As they passed by the crowded marketplace, there was an immediate buzz of excited voices. Everyone was thrilled to see Gaston walking around and seemingly not as badly injured as feared, despite the bandage on his arm. Even more noteworthy was how cozy he and Belle seemed to be, just as Claude, Francois and LeFou had told them.

Monique, Cecile and Josette immediately rushed forward. "Belle! Is it true?" Monique said eagerly. "Are you and Gaston courting?"

Belle blushed. "Is everyone talking about it?" she asked, embarrassed.

"Of _course!"_ proclaimed Josette. "Next to Gaston saving Hervé, that's the biggest news in town!"

"Well…yes, it _is_ true," Belle said, smiling. "We're together now."

"Oh! I'm so happy for you!" Monique said, hugging her. In Belle's ear, she whispered, "Wednesday morning! You WILL be at my house, and you WILL tell us EVERYTHING!"

Belle giggled. "Okay," she promised.

The blonde triplets ignored Belle and looked beseechingly at Gaston. "Gaston," Bambi pleaded, "you can't _really_ be serious about Belle! Say it isn't so!"

"It's so," Gaston said with a grin. "Sorry." They burst into tears and went off, sobbing.

"Well, we're on our way to the bookshop," Belle told her friends. "I'll see you at the sewing circle on Wednesday."

"All right. Congratulations!" said Cecile, smiling. Unlike the triplets, Belle's friends weren't jealous. They were already matched up with their own men, after all. (Josette had recently decided to allow Gerard, the blacksmith, to court her.)They were only too thrilled that "one of their own" had landed the biggest catch of all.

"I can't wait to hear the whole story!" Monique gushed as Belle and Gaston left.

"I'll bet _I_ know what happened," Josette said importantly.

"Really?" asked Monique.

Josette nodded. "It's obvious, isn't it? Gaston took her to the dance, but he kept insisting they were only friends, remember? Belle must have been disappointed, and decided to give up on him. So she started seeing Hervé. But when Gaston saw her with another man, he got jealous, and realized he wanted her for himself! So that's when he finally made his move!"

"Oh, that makes sense! I'll bet you're right!" Cecile said.

"Well, we'll find out on Wednesday," Monique said, and the girls went back to their shopping.

As Belle and Gaston entered the bookshop, Monsieur Liseur looked up. "Oh, good morning, Belle, Gaston." He came over to Gaston a bit awkwardly. "Gaston…I know we've had our differences, but I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for saving Hervé's life. He told me all about it. That was incredibly brave of you."

Gaston shrugged. "It's all right." Darn! He wanted to stay angry at the bookseller, but it was hard when the guy was thanking him and telling him he was brave.

"Monsieur Liseur, I need to talk to you," Belle said. "Did you tell Gaston to stay away from me? And that he could never make me happy?"

The bookseller looked embarrassed. "Well…yes."

Belle frowned. "You had no right to do that! It's up to _me _to decide who I want to spend time with and what will make me happy."

The bookseller sighed. "You're right," he admitted. "I guess I did overstep my bounds. But Belle, in my defense, you have to remember what was going on at the time. Only the night before, Gaston had threatened to hurt Hervé if he didn't leave town immediately! And the reason he gave was _you: _that you were 'his,' as though it was a crime for any other man to talk to you." He looked from Belle to Gaston helplessly. "Can you blame me for being concerned? I didn't want you to end up with a violent bully."

Belle softened a little. "Well…I guess I can understand that." She looked at Gaston and admitted, _"I_ was pretty mad at you at the time, too, actually. I didn't forgive you till you explained and apologized. But Monsieur Liseur didn't hear that."

"Gaston _apologized?_" The bookseller was astonished. "No, I wasn't aware of that at all."

"But even so, you shouldn't have tried to make decisions for me," Belle admonished him. "In your own way, you were doing the exact same thing Gaston did! You told someone to stay away from me because you didn't want him courting me."

Monsieur Liseur looked startled. "I hadn't thought of it that way." He looked at the two of them. "I'm sorry I misjudged you, Gaston," he said sincerely. "I apologize to you both. Can you forgive a meddling old fool?"

Belle smiled. "Of course."

"It's okay," Gaston agreed. He hesitated, then admitted, "I shouldn't have said that to Hervé that night. It was a mistake."

"I guess we've all made some mistakes along the way," Belle said. "But everyone meant well." She was relieved that things were smoothed over now. She cared about both of these men, and didn't want bad feelings between them.

They all talked some more, and Belle chose some new books. By the time they left, she was feeling cheerful. Everything in her life seemed to suddenly be going perfectly.

That night, after dinner with Belle and her father, Gaston went to the tavern and had a fine evening telling the crowd of spellbound listeners the dramatic tale of how he had bravely fought off the wolves and rescued Hervé. It occurred to him that he owed Hervé thanks for enhancing his reputation and giving Gaston his most impressive feat yet. The villagers would be telling that story with awe and admiration for years to come.

Afterward, as he and LeFou walked home, the little man spoke up. "I'm really glad things worked out with you and Belle! She must have liked the poem, huh?"

"Of course – she _loved _it!" Gaston boasted. "I always knew it would work. Did you really think she'd want Hervé when she had someone like _me?"_ Now that Gaston knew Belle truly loved him, his characteristic bravado had returned.

"Good point! She'd be crazy not to pick you!" LeFou agreed loyally. He knew all too well just how worried and desperate Gaston had been at the time, but he knew better than to bring it up. He understood how important Gaston's image was to him. Let Gaston pretend that he'd never doubted his success; inside, they both knew the truth.

"So," LeFou went on, "when's the wedding?"

"I haven't proposed to her yet," Gaston replied.

LeFou stopped short and stared at him. "You haven't? I figured you asked her last night."

"I was going to," Gaston admitted. "But you know how Belle is. She doesn't like to be pressured, she likes to make her own choices - all that stuff. So I realized I _shouldn't _propose to her the second we got back together. She'd feel like I was putting her on the spot, being pushy."

"So…when are you going to ask her?" LeFou asked.

Gaston grinned proudly. "I'm _not!_ I'm just going to wait and let _her_ bring it up, when she's ready." He looked very pleased with himself for coming up with such a brilliant idea. "She'll like that. It shows I respect her feelings, see?"

LeFou was confused. "Not proposing means you respect her feelings?" That made no sense to him at all. All the girls he knew were _dying _for a proposal. It was all they thought about.

Gaston nodded. "To Belle, it will. Trust me."

LeFou shrugged. "Okay, if you say so. You always know what you're doing."

"Damn straight I do," Gaston said confidently.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Three weeks later, Gaston rushed into Belle's home without knocking, eager to share his news. "Look!" he said proudly. He held up his healed arm, showing that it no longer had a bandage.

Belle was sitting on the couch with Raoul and Renaud, teaching them to read. She looked up, and her eyes lit up to see him fully recovered. "Oh, wonderful!" she said happily. "We're almost done here – I'll be free in a minute," she added, gesturing at the boys.

"No rush," Gaston replied, settling in an armchair to watch. It made him smile to see her sitting so cozily with the two little boys, talking to them in such a warm and motherly way. One day it would be _their _sons cuddling up to her, he thought with anticipation. He could see by the way she treated these two that she would be a great mother. He could hardly wait.

_If _she ever actually mentioned that she wanted to get married, that was, he added mentally with a frown. He told himself that it was only a matter of time; they _were _officially a couple, after all, and she had said she loved him. He was still determined to wait for _her_ to bring up the subject. He wanted to prove to her that he wasn't being pushy anymore - that he respected her right to make her own decisions.

Still, he was getting impatient, even anxious. If it were up to him, she would have been his wife long ago. How long would he have to wait?

He tried to put the thought out of his mind, and watched her teaching the boys. "The…cat…sat…on…the…mat," Raoul read slowly.

"That was perfect!" Belle said, beaming at him. "I'm so proud of you!"

"Really?" The little boy looked delighted.

"You're both doing so well!" she went on. "You'll be reading as well as _me_ soon! Then you can read all the stories in my fairy tale books all by yourself!"

Renaud looked worried. "But you'll still read to us sometimes, won't you, Belle? You do it better, with the voices and everything."

Belle hugged him. "Of course I'll still read to you, if you want me to. I love reading out loud. Especially to such good listeners!" They looked relieved. "Well, it's almost dinnertime – I'm sure your mama is waiting for you. I'll see you next week, okay?"

"Okay, Belle! Thanks!" The two little boys ran out the door.

Gaston watched them go. "They're reading great for little kids. You're good at teaching them."

"Thank you," Belle said. She smiled. "I love doing it. It's so exciting to see them really 'get it,' and then to see _them _get excited when they realize they're actually reading on their own. It's a wonderful feeling."

"You should be a teacher," Gaston suggested. "A real one, I mean."

"Oh, wouldn't that be wonderful?" Belle said with a dreamy sigh. "I wish I could!"

Gaston was puzzled. "Why not, then? If you love it so much?" He had always lived his life by a simple motto: "Want; take; have." He couldn't imagine wanting something and _not _doing whatever he had to to get it.

Belle looked surprised. "Really? But I haven't been to university, I don't have any training or experience…"

Gaston shook his head. "Belle, this is a tiny village. We're not nobles here. We don't expect our kids to learn Latin or history or fancy stuff like that. We have a one-room schoolhouse, and the kids just learn how to read a little, and how to add and subtract numbers so they know how much money they should get back when they buy something. That's all. You could do that easy."

Belle began to get hopeful. "I _could_ do that…And I _have _been teaching Raoul and Renaud…But Gaston, wouldn't people mind that I'm not a real trained teacher? And isn't there already a teacher here?"

"Belle, let me tell you about our teachers," Gaston said, sitting next to her on the couch. "This isn't a job they want. People don't go to school for all those years to work in some little out-of-the-way place like Molyneaux. So basically, we get three kinds here. First, there's the guys just out of college, ready to teach for the first time. What they _really _want is to tutor some noble's sons, or to work in some posh boarding school. But they can't get that kind of job right off the bat. They're brand new and no one will hire them. So they come here for a couple of years just to get experience. They don't want to be here, and they can't wait to leave, and they look down at all of us like we're a bunch of stupid peasants. They don't care about the kids at all." Gaston scowled, remembering the teachers he'd had when he was young.

"Then there's the old guys, the ones who did teach in the city, but now they're too old and they've been let go. They come here for a year or two just to get a bit of extra money before retiring for good. They figure it's an easy job and they don't have to do any work. They don't care about the kids either. And the third kind are the ones who are so terrible that they've been fired from every other school they've worked at, and this is the only job they can get."

"That's awful," Belle said sympathetically. "The poor kids! They deserve better than that."

"That's what I'm saying," Gaston said. "The people here would love to have you as a teacher. We've always had all these outsiders. It would be great to have one of our _own_ teaching the kids."

Belle felt a warm glow at the words "one of our own." It was true, she realized. She was part of the village now, someone who belonged.

"You know all the kids, and you care about them," Gaston went on. "You'd be so much better than the other ones we get."

Belle was thinking. "But what about the teacher who's already here?"

Gaston shrugged. "Monsieur Vieux? He's one of the old guys ready to retire. He's supposed to leave at the end of June anyway. We were going to be getting a new guy in September, but I think you should do it instead."

Belle began to get excited. "September…Oh, that would be perfect! It would give me time to read up on teaching methods, and figure out a lesson plan, and decide what books the children should read, and order copies for all of them…"

Gaston grinned at her enthusiasm. "See, I knew you'd be perfect for this!"

"But who would I talk to here about teaching in the school?" Belle asked. "Who would give me permission?"

"Town council. I'll mention it to them," Gaston said offhandedly. "It'll be easy. They'll be thrilled to have you."

Belle hugged him. "Oh, Gaston, thank you so much for doing this for me! You're wonderful!"

He kissed her tenderly and stroked her hair. "Anything to make my girl happy. You know that."

"Yes…" Belle said slowly. His girl. She _was_ his girl, and that was fine…but when would she be his _wife? _she wondered. She was amazed that he hadn't proposed to her yet – they had been back together for three weeks already. Back when she didn't even _like_ him, he had been all too insistent on her marrying him. But now that they were actually a _couple,_ officially courting, and had declared their love for each other, he hadn't even brought the subject up at all. It was strange.

Gaston looked at her curiously. "Something wrong?"

"No, of course not," she assured him, and kissed him again. She knew he loved her – it was obvious in everything he said and did, even the way he looked at her. It was only a matter of time before he proposed, she assured herself.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

At the next sewing circle, Amelie came in full of excitement. "Guess what?" she burst out immediately without even saying hello. "LeFou proposed to me! We're getting married right after the New Year!"

The girls all shrieked joyfully and hugged her. "Congratulations!" Belle said to her.

"This is becoming an eventful winter for our group!" Cecile said, smiling. "First Monique got married, now you're getting married…What will we talk about once everyone is married off?"

"Babies, of course!" Josette said, giggling.

Amelie shared all the details of her proposal. Then Belle said, "I have some news too."

"Gaston proposed!" Monique guessed immediately.

Belle shook her head. "No…but he came up with a wonderful idea. He suggested that I become the town schoolteacher when Monsieur Vieux leaves next year."

"A teacher?" Josette asked. "Is that what you want to do?"

Belle nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes! I've loved teaching Cecile's boys. I think it would be wonderful to teach lots of children."

"Well, you'd be great at it, that's for sure," Cecile said. "I can't believe how well my two are reading now!"

"Thanks," Belle said appreciatively.

Monique smiled warmly at her. "It really is a great idea. I'm very happy for you, Belle."

Josette looked thoughtful. "So…is that why you haven't gotten married yet, Belle? You want to teach instead of getting married?"

"No, of course not!" Belle said. "I can be married and still teach!"

"Okay," Monique said. "In that case…spill! What exactly is going _on_ with you and Gaston? I was _sure_ you'd be married by now, knowing how impatient Gaston is."

Belle sighed. "Me too," she admitted. "To be honest, the reason we're not married yet is…he hasn't mentioned it at all. I don't know what's going on."

The girls looked surprised. "Hmm…" said Monique. "Did you say anything to him? You're usually pretty open and honest about things like that. Not sneaky like the rest of us!" she added with a giggle.

"I know I am," Belle acknowledged. "I _did_ think of asking him about it straight out…but Gaston is such a proud man. I'm sure he thinks it's the man's place to propose. He would probably find it humiliating to have _me _be the one to propose to _him_ – he'd feel that it's _his _job to do it. I'm all for equality, you know that…but I want to respect his feelings too. That's what a relationship is about: being considerate of the other person. I don't want to offend him, or make him feel like I'm trying to 'steal his thunder.'"

The girls considered this. Then Josette snapped her fingers. "I know! I bet he's planning something special!"

The girls all lit up at this. _"Yes!"_ Monique agreed. "You know Gaston – he always has to do everything in the biggest, flashiest way. He probably has a proposal all planned out. Maybe a romantic outing, a proposal under the stars…"

"Christmas is coming," Amelie added eagerly. "I bet he asks you then. Maybe an engagement ring as a Christmas present…"

"You're right!" Belle said, her eyes widening. "I never thought of that!" It made perfect sense. Of course Gaston would want to propose in some dramatic, romantic way.

She smiled at her friends in relief. "Thanks, girls. I feel better now."

"That's what we're here for," Monique said cheerfully, and the talk turned to other topics.

O o o o o o o

The next few weeks passed in a happy blur for Belle. Now that Gaston's arm had healed, he was determined to make up for lost time and show Belle just why she'd been right to pick him over Hervé. Every day seemed to bring a new surprise or a fun outing.

It was December now, and the village was covered in snow. One Saturday, Gaston showed up at Belle's house with a huge sled. "Look! I nailed the boards together myself," he told her proudly. "I got Emile to make the runners for it."

"It's beautiful," Belle said admiringly.

"Come on, let's try it out!" Gaston said with a grin. With one hand, he easily hoisted the heavy sled onto his back. With the other, he grabbed Belle's hand and headed toward the big hill.

Belle laughed and hurried alongside him, enjoying his boyish enthusiasm. He was like an overgrown kid with a new toy.

At the top of the hill, Gaston waved at her to get on, then sat behind her, one arm around her, the other holding the rope to steer the sled. "You ready?" Belle nodded her, her eyes shining with anticipation.

Gaston leaned forward, shifting his weight, and the sled tipped forward and began to slide over the crisp white snow. It went faster and faster, until Belle felt as though they were flying. The wind blew her hair back, and the ground rushed toward them at dizzying speed. It was exhilarating. At the bottom of the hill, they plowed into a snowdrift, sending a spray of snow into the air.

"Let's do that again!" Belle said eagerly, her cheeks flushed red with the cold. Gaston laughed and kissed her. She was so much more fun than the other girls, he thought.

Of course, all the village children wanted rides on the marvelous sled, so they were soon joined by a crowd of small passengers. Neither of them minded. _One day, we'll be doing this with our own kids, _they were both thinking.

On other days, they went ice skating on the lake, or rode their horses through the hushed winter woods. Afterwards, they would go back to Belle's house for sandwiches and hot chocolate. Then they would snuggle on the couch in front of the fire, and Belle would read aloud exciting tales of heroes and adventures, dragons and monsters, brave knights and fair damsels.

Belle loved to sneak glances at Gaston as she read, to see him listening so intently, transported by the story. He was always happy to give his opinionated view of what he thought of the tale, or tell her what _he _would have done in the hero's situation, or recall adventures in his own life that were similar.

But it must be said that not all their reading sessions were so…productive. Sometimes, watching Belle read, Gaston couldn't keep his mind on the story. She just looked so beautiful as she read, so animated, her eyes sparkling. He would find himself marveling at at the glorious fact that she was really _his _at last, that she truly loved him, that he was actually allowed to touch her now, to kiss her…and when he thought of that, he simply couldn't resist. He would start out kissing her cheek, and at first she would giggle and try to keep reading. Then he would trail soft kisses all along the side of her neck, her shoulder, the hollow of her throat, her eyelids…and she would sigh with pleasure, and the book would slip, forgotten, from her fingers to the floor. And then she was in his arms, embracing him, and they were kissing passionately, and she lost all sense of time and place. There was only Gaston, her dear Gaston, his kisses filling her with rapture…

"Ahem." On one such occasion, the sound of a throat clearing broke the spell. "I hope I'm not interrupting," Maurice said.

Belle and Gaston instantly broke apart, looking like guilty children. "Papa!" Belle said, flustered. She smoothed her hair back. "We were just…reading." She quickly snatched the book off the floor.

"So I see," Maurice said in amusement.

Gaston stood up quickly. "Good evening, Maurice," he said respectfully.

"I…I'd better get dinner ready," Belle said, hurrying to the kitchen.

Maurice smiled. He was delighted to see his daughter so happy and so in love. It was obvious how much Gaston cared for her.

If only they would get married already! He wondered what on earth was taking them so long.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

The week before Christmas was the annual village Christmas party in the tavern. Belle was thrilled to be going this year. Last year, she and her father had only been in Molyneaux a few months, and she didn't know anyone. She felt awkward and shy about going to the party, so she had just stayed home and had a quiet evening with her father.

This year, she was with the man she loved, and was greeted by friends as soon as she entered. It was a fun evening of song and laughter.

At one point Gaston went over to the bar to get them drinks. LeFou said to him, "So? Proposed to Belle yet?"

Gaston pulled him aside to talk confidentially. "No, she hasn't mentioned it yet," he admitted.

LeFou looked exasperated. "Gaston, I'm going to be married before _you _are! That's just crazy!"

"I know!" Gaston conceded. "But I have to wait till she's ready."

"Just _ask _her, Gaston," LeFou urged.

Gaston set his jaw. "No," he said stubbornly. _"She_ has to bring it up first."

LeFou sighed. Once Gaston got a plan into his head, it was impossible to shake him, even if it obviously wasn't working. He was as stubborn as a mule. "What if she _never_ brings it up?" he pointed out.

"She will," Gaston said confidently. "On Christmas day, I'm going to take her on a romantic sleigh ride. That will definitely put her in the mood. She'll bring it up then. I'm sure of it."

LeFou shrugged. "If you say so." They took their drinks and went back to their dates.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o oo o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

On Christmas morning, Gaston knocked on Belle's door bright and early. "Come in," she called.

"The tree looks great," Gaston said admiringly, entering the house.

"Thanks for cutting it down for us," Belle said.

"My pleasure. Maurice - here," Gaston said, handing Maurice a package. "Merry Christmas."

"Oh, thank you!" Maurice said, surprised to be getting a gift. He opened it to see a brand-new set of tools. "Why, thank you! I can certainly use these!"

"Gaston, I have something for you," Belle said, giving him his gift.

He opened it and let out a whistle. It was a shiny new rifle. "This is great, Belle! How did you know?"

Belle smiled. "I asked LeFou what you'd like," she admitted. "He said you've had your eye on this one for a long time."

"Thanks, it's perfect," he said, kissing her. "I have a present for you, too."

_A ring? _Belle thought hopefully. Maurice, who was thinking the same thing, excused himself to give them some privacy.

"Close your eyes," Gaston said, grinning. She did. "Okay, open them!"

She opened her eyes expectantly. She was disappointed to see that the package was too big to be a ring. She opened it. "Oh! The complete works of Moliére!" She tried not to look disappointed. It was a good present, even if it wasn't what she'd been hoping for.

"The bookseller said you'd like it," Gaston explained.

"Thank you," she said, kissing him on the cheek.

"Now, come outside," Gaston said. "I have a surprise for you."

She went out curiously and gasped. Outside was a shiny red sleigh with a white horse. A driver held the reins. He waved at them.

"I hired it from Clermont-Ferrand," Gaston explained. "We have it for the whole day."

"Gaston, that's incredible!" Belle said with a gasp. "I can't believe you did this."

He grinned, enjoying her delight. "Come on." He helped her into the sleigh.

It was a beautiful day. The sleigh ride took them to Clermont-Ferrand, where they had lunch at the inn and spent the day strolling about and looking at the shops. Then the driver drove them home.

Riding through the twilight, the stars twinkling overhead, the snowy woods so hushed and still…it was all so romantic, Belle thought with a happy sigh. Gaston had wrapped a fur blanket around the two of them, and she snuggled up against him. "Happy?" he asked, smiling down at her.

"Yes," she said. "It's perfect. But…"

"But?"

"Nothing," she said with a sigh.

He brought her to her front door and kissed her goodnight. "I had a wonderful time, Gaston," she said. "Thank you."

Gaston looked at her. It had been such a romantic day. This was the perfect moment for a proposal, he had to admit. "Belle…" he began.

"Yes?" she said hopefully.

He opened his mouth, but stopped himself. _No. _As tempting as it was, he couldn't ask her now. He wanted _her _to bring it up. That was the whole point of his plan. That was why he'd been waiting all these endless weeks without saying anything! If he proposed now, it would ruin his whole big romantic gesture of letting _her_ make the first move, proving that he truly respected her feelings and her need to make her own choices.

"I'm glad you had a good time," he said instead. He kissed her again. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"All right," she said, disappointed.

He lingered a moment, hoping she'd say something else, but she didn't. Finally he sighed. "Good night, Belle."

"Good night, Gaston."

Gaston lay in bed that night, thinking. He had been _sure_ the sleigh ride would do the trick, that the romantic atmosphere would get Belle to admit she wanted to marry him. But she hadn't said a word, even though he knew she'd had a wonderful time.

LeFou was right. This was getting ridiculous. He was just going to have to come right out and ask her, disappointing though it was.

The next day, he went to her house, determined to ask her and get it over with. "Oh, Gaston," Belle said. "I'm glad you're here. I need to talk to you." She looked nervous.

Gaston was concerned. "What is it?"

"Come in and sit down." He sat on the couch, watching her curiously. He had never seen her so flustered. "Gaston…" She hesitated, twisting her hands together. "It's just…we've been together a month and a half already…and we obviously love each other…but you haven't…I mean…" She trailed off helplessly.

Gaston inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. _Finally! _He raised an eyebrow. "What, Belle?" he asked innocently.

"Well…I was just wondering…a long time ago, you asked me to marry you. So…" She took a deep breath. "Does that proposal still stand?"

Gaston was about to grab her and kiss her and tell her "Of course!" But she looked so adorable – so embarrassed and shy and hopeful all at once – that he couldn't resist teasing her just a little bit.

"Hmmm…well, Belle, it _has_ been a long time," he said mock-regretfully. "I think you may have missed your chance."

Belle's mouth dropped open. Then she made a face and lightly hit him on the arm. "Now who's playing hard to get?"

Gaston grinned. "Well…" he said, enjoying the moment. "I _might _be persuaded to marry you…if…"

"If what?"

"If you massage my feet."

Belle laughed. "You never give up, do you?"

"Never," Gaston said with a grin.

Belle smiled. "I'll tell you what. I'll massage your feet _if_ you massage mine."

Gaston looked down at her shapely legs and small feet. "Ooh, now _there's _an idea…"  
He would be only too happy to fondle and caress any portion of her anatomy that she wanted. He rubbed his hands together. "Okay, you've got a deal! Let's get married."

"Uh-uh. Not so fast," Belle said, turning the tables on him. "That's your idea of a romantic proposal? 'Let's get married'?" She shook her head disapprovingly. "You're not exactly sweeping me off my feet here, buddy."

"Oh, right. You want it like in your books." Gaston gave an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh. "All right. You want romantic? You got it." He got down on one knee, took her hand in one of his, put his other hand over his heart, then proclaimed melodramatically, "Belle, your eyes are like stars. Your lips are like cherries. Your skin is like cream. Your hair is like...like...oh, I don't know, like something brown that looks nice!" He made a face. "Belle, this is _hard!_ Can't I just give you some antlers or something?"

Belle crossed her arms. "Keep going," she said, trying to sound stern, but she couldn't suppress a smile.

"All right, then," Gaston said. He cleared his throat. "Belle, my angel, my darling, my cupcake, my crème brulee…marry me, and make me the happiest man on the face of the earth!"

Belle giggled. "Okay, I have to admit, that was good," she said, smiling. "Romeo couldn't have done it better."

"No one proposes like Gaston!" he bragged. He stood up. "So, Belle, what'll it be? Is it 'yes,' or is it "OH, YES!"

"OH, YES!" Belle said, laughing.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. _"Finally!_ I thought you'd never bringup getting married!"

Belle frowned. "_Me? _I only brought it up because it was taking forever for _you_ to propose! What took you so long? Don't you want to marry me?"

"You were waiting for _me?_" Gaston said, his eyes widening. He shook his head. "Damn!"

"What?" Belle said in confusion.

Gaston sighed in exasperation. "Belle, I wanted to ask you to marry me the day I told you the poem! But I thought you wouldn't like that. I thought you'd think it was too soon and I was being pushy. So I thought, if I waited and let _you _bring it up, when you were ready, you would like that better. I know you like to make your own choices, and not be pressured, and everything. I wanted to show you I was respecting your feelings. I thought it was what you'd want." He sighed. "Wrong move, huh?"

"Oh, Gaston." He was so dear, she thought. She kissed him. "Thank you. It was a lovely thought."

"Didn't work, though," he pointed out.

Belle smiled. "The only reason I didn't say anything sooner was that I thought _you _wouldn't like it. I know how proud you are. I thought you'd feel that it was the man's job to propose. I was trying to respect _your _feelings!"

"So in other words…we could have been married weeks ago!" Gaston said. He shook his head. "What a waste!"

"Well, at least we both meant well," Belle said. "We were trying to make each other happy. I'll tell you what…from now on, let's just be honest with each other. If you want to tell me something, just _tell _me. Don't worry about how I'll react. After all, what's the worst that could happen?"

Gaston thought about it. "You'll get mad and we'll have a big fight."

"True," Belle admitted, laughing. "But it wouldn't be the first time."

"No," Gaston agreed, grinning.

"I'm sure we'll have a lot of arguments, knowing us," Belle said. "But like you said, it keeps things interesting! The important thing is…I love you, and I want to marry you."

He kissed her. Then he jumped up. "Hey! Come here." He grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door.

"Gaston, where are we going?" Belle asked in confusion.

"You'll see." To her surprise, he led her to the church.

"Gaston! We're not getting married right _now, _are we?" Belle asked in a panic. "I'm not even wearing a nice dress!"

He laughed. "Of course not! Our wedding's going to be the biggest, fanciest one this town's ever seen." He went inside and started pulling the ropes that rang the church bells.

The villagers came running, looking worried. Aside from calling people to services, the church bells were only rung in an emergency. "What's going on?" people cried.

Gaston stood on top of the church steps with his arm around Belle. "I'm glad you're all here," he proclaimed. "I have an important announcement to make. Belle and I are getting married!"

The crowd cheered. "Finally!" Monique whispered to her friends.

"Congratulations!" LeFou called. "Three cheers for Belle and Gaston!" The villagers cheered again. The cheers grew even louder when Gaston kissed Belle, showing off for the crowd.

Then he raised his hand. The crowd quieted down.

"And, while you're all here…I also want to announce that starting in September, Belle is going to be the new village schoolteacher." He smiled at her fondly. "She's the smartest girl in town, and we all know she reads better than anyone else in the whole village. She's already taught Emile and Cecile's boys to read, hasn't she, Emile?"

"Yes, it's true," Emile said, nodding.

"I think it's time we had one of our _own_ teaching our kids, instead of all these outsiders," Gaston went on. "What do you say?"

The villagers cheered again. "Hooray for Belle!"

"And to celebrate…everyone's invited to the tavern," Gaston said. "Drinks are on me!"

The cheers for _that_ announcement were the loudest of all. Then everyone headed off toward the tavern, ready for a party.

Gaston turned to Belle. "I just realized…we forgot to tell your father," he said, looking guilty. "Think he'll mind?"

Belle laughed. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled. He's probably been waiting for this as long as we have!"

He took her hand. "Let's go back to your house and tell him. Then we can all go to the tavern together."

"That sounds wonderful," Belle said, and they went to tell Maurice the good news.


	26. There's a Lid For Every Pot

_Author's note: The wedding is coming up, I promise! But I just wanted to get this scene in first. Consider it a bonus chapter. :)_

At the Sorbonne in Paris, Hervé adjusted his tie and ran his hand over his hair one final time. The dean of the university, Mssr. Doyen, had invited him to the faculty's annual Christmas party. Of course, he must attend; it was important for him to meet his new colleagues. He was eager to meet such a distinguished group of intellectuals…yet at the same time, he felt nervous. He had never been fond of crowds, and the thought of a large party full of hundreds of strangers made him uncomfortable. He much preferred to socialize in small groups: a quiet dinner party with just four or six guests, for example. A huge, loud Christmas party was the last place he wanted to spend his time.

As he stood outside the Great Hall, he was almost tempted to turn back. But no, it would be an unpardonable faux pas to miss this important event, especially since he was new to the university. He needed to introduce himself to the other members of the faculty, and familiarize himself with his new setting. He took a deep breath, opened the door and entered.

As he looked around, he was relieved to find that it wasn't as bad as he'd feared. There _were _a lot of people there – between 100 and 200, he estimated, including all the professors and high officers of the college, as well as their wives. But the Great Hall was designed to hold upwards of 1,000 people; it was used for the annual graduation ceremony as well as other university-wide student gatherings. So despite the large number of people, the spacious room did not feel crowded.

He was also pleased to find that it was not loud or noisy at all. In one corner, a string quintet played a Boccherini minuet. People stood in small groups, talking, or sat at tiny round tables, each adorned with a white silk tablecloth, a vase with a rose, and two candles. Attentive waiters walked among the guests offering glasses of wine, hors d'oeuvres, and a selection of fine cheeses cut into cubes.

Still, he felt a bit adrift, not knowing anyone, so he was relieved when he spotted Monsieur Doyen approaching. He was glad to see a familiar face.

"Ah, Hervé, there you are!" Mssr. Doyen said. "Glad you could make it."

"Thank you, sir," Hervé said respectfully.

"Let me introduce you to the other members of the department…" He made the rounds with Hervé, introducing him to various professors. Hervé greeted them all politely, and they all said variations of "Welcome to the university" and "Glad to have you aboard." They seemed friendly enough, he thought, feeling a bit better.

"Well, I have to greet some other guests. I'll catch up with you later on," Mssr. Doyen said, and headed off.

Hervé sipped some wine and observed the room. Then his eyes widened in surprise. A young woman was approaching him. She stood out from the crowd, because men greatly outnumbered women at the party, and the females who _were _in attendance were mainly the middle-aged wives of faculty members.

This girl was different. She was only about 20, with auburn hair pulled back into a tasteful chignon. She was not beautiful, but she had a pleasant face, and her green eyes shone with a keen intelligence that Hervé found compelling. She wore a modest dark green velvet dress with long sleeves, a long skirt, and a fitted waist. She wore no jewelry except for two tiny pearl earrings.

"Pardon me," she said as she came up to him. "I overheard you being introduced before – you're Hervé Lisseur?"

"Why, yes," he said, surprised at the way she said his name, as though she knew who he was.

"Oh, splendid!" she said, pleased. "I'd heard that you'd been hired to teach here, and I was hoping you would be here tonight. I wanted to tell you how much I've enjoyed reading your books on Shakespeare. I found your analyses incredibly astute…even brilliant in places."

"Really?" Herve said, flattered. "Well, thank you very much! I am most gratified to hear it."

The girl smiled, then added, "Oh, forgive me, where are my manners? I'm Imogene Doyen. My father is the dean here." She offered her hand, and he took it briefly and clasped it in greeting.

"Ah, then you must have no shortage of scholarly essays to read!" Hervé said with a smile.

She laughed ruefully. "That's true. The professors here are certainly prolific! But it's only because they subscribe to the notion of 'publish or perish.' They feel that the more books they churn out, the more important and impressive and valuable they are." She looked around quickly, then lowered her voice, adding confidentially, "Most if it is just repetitive twaddle, though, if you ask me. You're one of the few who actually has something useful and interesting to say."

"Well, thank you. I am delighted to hear that my work meets with your approval," Hervé said.

"Yes. Although I must tell you…I did disagree with you on two of your points about _Romeo and Juliet._"

"Really? Which ones?" Hervé asked with interest.

"Well, for one, I don't agree with your contention that the use of comedic elements is inappropriate and that the 'mix of styles ultimately mars the play, exposing the immaturity of the playwright.'"

"Indeed?" Hervé was intrigued, as well as incredibly flattered that she was actually quoting his words. "Tell me, what is your point of view on the subject?"

"Personally, I think that the addition of comedy adds contrast and texture to the play," Imogene explained. "The humor provided by the Nurse and Mercutio endears them to the audience and make the Nurse's grief and Mercutio's wasteful death all the more poignant, in my opinion."

Hervé was impressed by her insight. "I must confess that I had never considered that perspective," he admitted. "You make a compelling argument."

"Thank you," she said appreciatively. "I also wanted to talk to you about Mercutio's 'Queen Mab' speech – do you mind?"

"Of course not!" Hervé said, surprised that she needed to ask. "I would be fascinated to hear your thoughts on the subject."

"Truly?" She was pleased. "All right, then. In your book, you theorize that the speech was not part of the original play, but was added during the printing of the Second Quarto."

"Yes," Hervé said, nodding. "I have always felt that the 'Queen Mab' speech does not fit naturally into the play. It does not have any relevance to Romeo and Juliet; in fact, it slows down the action of the play, delaying Romeo and Mercutio's arrival at the ball."

Imogene was listening intently. "Go on," she said encouragingly. "This is fascinating."

"Well," Hervé went on eagerly, "the speech itself is also out of character for Mercutio. It contradicts what we know of him."

A waiter approached with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Hervé took one and gestured to Imogene to do the same. She took one as well and bit into it, but her eyes stayed on Hervé. "How is it out of character?"

"Well, first of all," Hervé said, warming to his topic, "Mercutio is a hot-tempered, impetuous youth who has no patience for the sort of dreams and visions discussed in the speech. Secondly, he complains earlier that Romeo's misery is 'burning daylight' by making them late for the party. But then Mercutio makes them even later with his lengthy discourse on Queen Mab! It completely contradicts what he wanted to do."

"Yes, but to me, that's the whole point!" Imogene said excitedly. "That's exactly why it works! Mercutio is impulsive and hasty and contradictory. He talks and acts first, and thinks later. That very trait is what leads to his death in Acts II and III. Here he is, in a hurry to get to the ball, but a comment from Romeo inspires him to go off on a tangent about Queen Mab, teasing his friend purely on a whim of the moment, and not even thinking at all about the fact that it means they'll be even later than they already are."

Hervé was entranced. He was eager to respond to what she was saying, but at the same time, he couldn't wait to hear what she was say next. He was intoxicated by the conversation – he had never spoken with a woman like this.

Imogene went on, "He always acts immediately on his first impulse, without considering the consequences. So I think this seemingly hypocritical action of Mercutio's actually sheds light on his character."

Hervé stared at her, flabbergasted. What an extraordinary woman! It took a moment for him to find his voice. "Indeed!" he said in admiration. "That is a most insightful interpretation!" He was growing more enamored with her with every passing second. He could have talked to her all night.

Imogene smiled. "Thank you. I have to say, it's refreshing to meet someone who actually _wants _to hear my opinion."

Hervé frowned in confusion. "What do you mean? You are surrounded by university professors…surely you have these sorts of discussions all the time."

Imogene sighed. "I try, but it's not always welcome." There was a trace of bitterness in her voice. He could see that this was a sore spot with her. "My father and I do discuss literature often. He's a wonderful man, and he respects my intelligence. But the professors here…well, they're very proud of their Ph.D.'s and their commendations and their published treatises, and they feel that that qualifies them to speak as authorities." She made a face. "I'm 'only a woman,' and I don't have a degree, so they think I can't possibly understand or have anything valuable to contribute. It's very frustrating."

Hervé was outraged. How could supposed men of learning not appreciate a brilliant mind like hers? "I can imagine!" he told her sympathetically, trying to control his indignation. "What do they say to you?"

"Oh, they're very polite, of course," Imogene said. "They have to be – I'm the boss' daughter. They kind of pat me on the head, metaphorically speaking, and say condescendingly, 'What a bright girl you are! Now why don't you run along and do your sewing?' Very patronizing. Of course, that's the older professors. The younger ones are even worse, because they're still trying to make their reputations and prove themselves as worthy scholars. So they get very defensive if I challenge them or disagree with them. If a woman who hasn't been to university is able to point out a flaw in their reasoning, what does that say about them, with all their education and their degrees? They feel threatened, so they're not willing to admit that I might have a valid point. So, they avoid getting into discussions with me."

"Frankly, I'm quite astonished," Hervé said honestly. "I would have thought men of intellect would flock to a woman like yourself."

Imogene blushed. "You'd think so, but you'd be wrong."

"Well, in that case, they are fools," Hervé said with uncharacteristic vehemence. "Such an exceptionally sagacious woman as yourself…" He stopped himself, realizing he was being too forward. "What I mean to say is, if they choose to forego listening to your observations, then they are missing out on a most valuable and enlightening experience."

She was flattered. "That's very kind of you to say."

"It is only the truth," he replied. He noticed a waiter nearby. "May I get you a drink, Mademoiselle Doyen?"

"Yes, please. And call me Imogene."

He signaled to the waiter, who brought over a tray with glasses of white wine. They each took one. "Monsieur Lisseur—" Imogene began.

"Call me Hervé," he interrupted with a smile.

"All right," she said, returning the smile. "I was wondering if you could expand on your thoughts about _King Lear? _I found your analysis fascinating in your book, and I would love to explore those ideas in more depth."

"Why, certainly," Hervé said, delighted, looking into her attentive green eyes.

The hours seemed to fly by as they talked animatedly. Hervé completely forgot that he was at a crowded party; he felt as though he and Imogene were the only two people in the room. He was startled when her father approached and spoke to him.

"Ah, Hervé, I see you've met my daughter," the dean said jovially. "I'm delighted to see you two getting on so well. But alas, I must inform you that it is almost midnight and the party is coming to an end."

"So soon?" Hervé was surprised to discover that it was so late. He felt a pang at the thought of having to part from Imogene.

"But why don't you come to dinner at our house tomorrow night?" the dean suggested.

"Thank you. I would enjoy that very much," Hervé said with anticipation.

"So would I," Imogene said, her eyes lingering on his.

Hervé walked back to his flat with a spring in his step and a smile on his face. It was extraordinary. He had never felt this way before in his life – full of excitement and anticipation and a sense of discovery, as if he had stumbled across a rare gem inexplicably overlooked by throngs of treasure hunters. How was it possible that such a remarkable, brilliant woman was not surrounded by suitors?

Another professor, a young man about Hervé's age, was heading in the same direction. "Hervé Lisseur, right?" he said, catching up to him.

Hervé had an excellent memory and immediately remembered being introduced to this man. "Yes, Monsieur Tache."

The man waved a hand casually. "Frederic, please."

Hervé smiled. "All right. Frederic."

"So…" Frederic said confidingly as they walked. "I noticed you talking with the dean's daughter. Word of advice…it's not worth it. I had the same idea last year when I arrived at the university."

"Idea?" Hervé said in confusion.

Frederic nodded. "Of course: court the dean's daughter to get in good with the old man. I figured it would help my career. But she's a prickly one. A real cold fish."

"What do you mean?" Hervé said, frowning. He thought it was most dishonorable to have ulterior motives in courting a woman, and even more dishonorable to gossip about her afterwards.

"The problem with Imogene is, she thinks she's a prodigy. She's always trying to show off," Frederic explained. "She's surrounded by distinguished scholars, the finest minds in the country, but she doesn't respect our expertise. She's always disagreeing with us and trying to challenge our conclusions. Of course, she's never been to university and doesn't know what she's talking about, but apparently she's picked up a few ideas by listening to her father. So she tries to come up with some imagined 'flaw' in our argument, just to score points and make herself seem smart. She actually questioned some of my interpretations of Moliere! Can you believe it? I have a Ph.D, for crying out loud! I'm a renowned expert on the subject!"

Hervé remembered what Imogene had said about the professors here. He could see she was right: Frederic was clearly insecure and felt threatened by the idea that a mere girl without a degree could come up with a valid point that countered his argument. No wonder she found it so frustrating to talk to them. He felt sympathy for her.

"And she's a complete stick-in-the-mud as well," Frederic went on. "I offered to take her ice-skating one day, but she refused! Can you imagine? She said she didn't like ice-skating."

"What's wrong with that?" Hervé asked in confusion. He detested ice-skating too. It combined three things he most disliked: cold weather, physical activity that required great coordination, and the strong likelihood of falling and probably getting hurt.

Frederic rolled his eyes. "The girl is not exactly swimming in suitors. She's 20 years old with no prospects in sight. I should think she would be _grateful _for an invitation from a man, regardless of the activity. And the _way_ she refused – she said 'I've never seen the point of wobbling around over slippery ice trying to balance on thin blades, when walking on solid ground does the job perfectly well.'"

Hervé couldn't help smiling. "She said that?" It was exactly the kind of remark he himself might have made.

"Yes. She's absolutely no fun at all. She told me that if I wanted to go ice-skating, I should go with my friends. She would just stay home and read." He shook his head. "With an attitude like that, she's going to end up an old maid."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Hervé said thoughtfully.

Then he looked sternly at Frederic. "I must say, I consider it extremely bad form to disparage a woman in this matter," he admonished disapprovingly. "Particularly one as intelligent, charming and insightful as Mademoiselle Doyen. Personally I found her to be excellent company."

Frederic was startled. "Oh…in that case, I apologize. No offense intended." He hesitated, then asked worriedly, "You won't tell her father what I said about her, will you?"

Hervé shook his head, and said sardonically, "No. Unlike some, I do not engage in idle gossip."

Frederic looked relieved. "Point taken." He stopped. "Here are my lodgings. I'll see you at the university, Hervé."

Hervé inclined his head in farewell, and continued walking home, thinking of Imogene. He couldn't stop smiling. The more he heard of her, the more he liked her. What a fool Frederic was, not to see how exceptional she was!

He thought back to their conversation at the party. It was extraordinary: he had immediately bonded with her, in a way he never had with anyone else. Of course, he had enjoyed talking about books with Belle too…but he hadn't felt that instant connection with her that he had tonight with Imogene.

He stopped short, startled. Connection…He suddenly remembered Belle's words when she had declined his proposal: "Hervé, I don't think love is just a checklist: 'this person is smart, she likes books, we get along pretty well'…and that's _all_ there is I believe that to truly love a person, there needs to be _more_ to it than that – a powerful emotional connection, a feeling that this person is the _one, _the soulmate you've been waiting for all your life."

Was _this_ what Belle had been talking about? This feeling of excitement and anticipation and joy at the thought of seeing Imogene again? The sense that she _understood _him, because she felt exactly the same way? The inexplicable feeling that there was a special bond between them? It must be.

Like a blinding flash, he suddenly understood. Belle had been right after all. He had wanted to marry her simply because she was intelligent and liked books and was pleasant to be around. But they didn't share the depth of feeling for each other that Belle wanted in a marriage. Feelings that, contrary to what he had always believed, really _could _exist outside of books. It was incredible.

He would have to write to Belle and tell her all about it, he thought. He knew she would be glad to hear it. But then he paused. No. It was too soon. He was getting ahead of himself. He had only just met Imogene. He needed to give it time. He had no idea what, if anything, would come of it. _If_ all went well, and _if _the relationship progressed, and _if _she eventually consented to be his wife – his heart leaped at the very thought – _then _he would write to Belle and share the good news.

In the meantime, he had tomorrow's dinner to look forward to. He couldn't wait.

As he entered his home, he wondered if Belle, too, would find that special soulmate who made her heart soar. He hoped so. She deserved that kind of happiness.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

_Next: Gaston and Belle's wedding!_


	27. So Book the Church, Raise Glasses High

_Author's note: Here it is - the wedding chapter! One little warning: I have a "wedding night" scene here - it's NOT explicit at all, no higher than PG-13, so hopefully it won't offend anyone. But one young reader I correspond with said she's uncomfortable reading about anything stronger than kissing, even if it's only implied. So just to be on the safe side, I'm going to put a dotted line before and after the scene in question - if anyone wants to skip it, just skip the part between the two dotted lines._

_Okay, on to the wedding!_

"Oh, Belle, you look beautiful!" Monique sighed.

Mme. Reinard smiled as she put the last pin in Belle's hair. "I must say, I've outdone myself," she said proudly. She and Monique, the matron of honor, were in Belle's living room getting her ready for her big moment.

Belle looked in the full-length mirror and her eyes widened. "Mme. Reinard…I don't know how to thank you. You did an amazing job."

The seamstress waved her thanks away. "It takes no effort at all to make a lovely girl like you look good!"

Belle was wearing a simple but elegant white satin gown trimmed with decorative white beading. It had a sweetheart neckline, short sleeves, a fitted waist and white satin gloves. On her throat was a locket her mother had given her, and she wore pearl earrings. Her hair was done in the same fancy style Mme. Reinard had given her for the dance.

Maurice entered the room, adjusting his black bow tie. He wore a black tailcoat with a white shirt. He stopped and smiled when he saw Belle. "Ah, Belle…you look positively radiant."

"Thank you, Papa," Belle said shyly.

He stepped forward and took her hands in his. "You know, a father dreams of this day all his life, and then when it finally comes…" He wiped away a tear. "My little girl…"

Belle hugged him. "Papa, I'll just be over the bridge," she reminded him. "I'll still see you every day, I promise!"

"I know," Maurice said. He kissed her forehead. "He's a fine man. And it means everything to me to see you so happy."

"I _am_ happy, Papa," Belle said, smiling. "Happier than I've ever been."

He smiled back. "Then…let's go!" He offered her his arm, and she took it. They headed for the door, Monique and Mme. Reinard following.

At the door of the church, Monique peeked in. "Everyone is here! Oh, Belle, this is so exciting! I adore weddings." She motioned Belle to join her. They slipped inside and waited in the back of the church, in the shadows. Mme. Reinard went to tell the preacher that it was time to begin.

Belle looked around. It seemed that the entire population of the village was seated in the church, all in their best finery. Her eyes moved to the front, and her heart leaped as she saw Gaston standing with LeFou, the best man, who was wearing a black tailcoat identical to Maurice's.

Gaston wore his fancy red tailcoat and white trousers, and his hair was tied back. He looked so unbelievably handsome…Belle felt a rush of love at the mere sight of him. This was really _it:_ today they would finally be joined forever, ready to start their wonderful new life together. She was almost trembling with excitement.

Meanwhile, in the front of the church, LeFou was talking to Gaston. "Gosh, Gaston, the whole town is here!"

"Of course!" Gaston boasted, proudly looking around at the crowd. "It's not every day the town hero gets married. This is the most important event the village has ever seen!"

"You bet!" LeFou agreed cheerfully. "I'm just glad it's finally happening. First Belle didn't even _like_ you; then you became friends with her, but you had that fight with her; then Herve came along; then you had to learn that poem; then you finally _did _get together with her but didn't talk at all about marriage…for a while, I didn't know if you'd _ever _get married!"

"Oh, I always knew she'd marry me in the end," Gaston said confidently. "From the first moment I saw Belle, I said, 'That's the one, the girl I'm going to—"

His voice suddenly trailed off as his eyes fell on Belle in the back of the church. His jaw dropped. She looked absolutely stunning, a vision in white. He had imagined this moment for so long, desired her from the first moment he'd ever laid eyes on her. Now the sight of her took his breath away. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life.

"Gaston…?" LeFou asked in confusion. Gaston ignored him, his eyes still on Belle.

Belle saw him watching and smiled from across the church. She raised her hand and gave a little wave. Gaston broke into a grin and waved back. She was the most incredible girl he'd ever known, the only one for him…the girl he loved. And now, after all this time and all the obstacles, she would finally be his wife. He felt a thrill at the very thought.

The organist began to play, and the guests all turned to look at the back of the church. Monique came first, walking slowly to stand beside LeFou. Then it was Belle's turn. There was a collective "ooh" as she appeared, holding her bouquet, her arm through her father's.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man, Gaston Avenant, and this woman, Belle Reveur, in holy matrimony…"

Gaston didn't listen to anything the preacher said; he was too busy enjoying the sight of his lovely bride. They smiled at each other as the preacher prattled on. Then the sound of his name caught Gaston's attention.

"Gaston," the preacher said. "Turn to Belle, and repeat after me: "With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine."

Gaston stared at him in disbelief. "You've _got_ to be kidding," he muttered. He would never remember all that! It had taken him _weeks_ to memorize that other poem for Belle. Now that she had agreed to marry him, there was no way on earth he was going to learn _another_ one!

He turned to Belle and said instead, "Belle…look, do you want to marry me?"

Belle looked amused. "I do."

"Great! And I want to marry you. So 'I do,' too." He turned back to the preacher. "Okay? Is that it? Can I kiss her now?"

The preacher was taken aback. "Well…this is highly irregular…" Gaston glared at him. "But I suppose in this case…" the preacher added hastily, remembering how important a man Gaston was in the town. "Very well. By the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

_Finally! _Gaston thought. He took Belle in his arms and dipped her as he kissed her. The crowd cheered. Gaston raised her back up and waved and blew kisses to the crowd, milking the moment. Belle had to laugh. That was her Gaston – always the center of attention.

She kissed him on the cheek affectionately. He put his arm around her, giving her a squeeze. "So, Belle…we really did it!" he said to her triumphantly.

"We certainly did…husband," she said, enjoying the sound of the word on her tongue.

Gaston liked the sound of that. He was a husband…Belle's husband. "Come on, wife," he said, grinning. "Let's go celebrate!"

Wedding celebrations were normally a small affair in the town; usually the bride, her mother and the groom's mother would spend the morning of the wedding cooking a big post-wedding dinner, which would be attended by the happy couple, their families and close friends at one of their homes, or sometimes they would celebrate at the tavern.

But this was Gaston's wedding, and he was going to make sure it was a party no one would ever forget. He had arranged a huge feast for the entire village at the town hall, with all kinds of meats, fancy pastries, a huge wedding cake, free-flowing ale, decorations, and music. It was as lavish an event as the annual village dance. _No one's ever seen a party like this, _he thought with satisfaction, seeing how impressed all the villagers were.

He led Belle onto the dance floor for the first dance, and the villagers made a circle around them, clapping. Belle blushed to be the focus of so much attention, but everyone was so happy and so clearly wished them the best (well, aside from the triplets, but she was used to that) that Belle couldn't help but enjoy herself.

Gaston took her in his arms and twirled her, then held her close. "Having a good time?"

She looked up into his blue eyes. "Oh, yes!" she said. She looked around the dance floor, where other couples had joined them, and at the far wall, where tables were laden with food. "I can't believe you did all this! It's a wonderful party."

"Only the best for my girl," he said proudly.

Belle smiled. "And coincidentally, only the best for _you," _she pointed out teasingly.

"Well…yes, that too," he conceded with a grin. It was true; he always did everything in the biggest, flashiest way possible. Why not? After all, didn't he deserve the best? And he did love a good party…especially when he was the one being honored.

Hours later, after the food was eaten, the dances were danced, the wine was drunk, and the many toasts were made, the party finally ended. The villagers – full, happy, and for the most part inebriated – drifted away to their homes, many still saying "Three cheers for Gaston and Belle!" as they headed off.

"So, are you packed and ready to go?" Gaston asked Belle.

She smiled. "Yes, I have an overnight bag all ready. Are we staying at your house tonight, or at the inn over the tavern?"

Gaston laughed. "Neither. And you're going to need a lot more than just an overnight bag! Come on, let's go back to your house so you can do some _real _packing." He started walking toward her cottage.

Belle followed him, confused. "Real packing? Where are we going, Gaston?"

He stopped and turned to her, savoring the moment. "Paris."

Belle stared at him in disbelief. Then she threw her arms around him. "Oh, Gaston!" she squealed. "We're really going to Paris? I've always wanted to go there!"

"I know," he said, enjoying her delighted reaction. Months earlier, the bookseller had sneeringly told Gaston that Hervé was the only man who could make Belle happy because he could take her to Paris. In that instant, Gaston knew that he if ever married Belle, Paris was where he would take her. Gaston was second best to no man in anything. _He _was the one who would make Belle happy.

Belle was still talking excitedly about Paris. "I can't believe it…Oh, there'll be museums, and bookstores—" Then she stopped and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm being so selfish!" She looked at him anxiously. "Will you enjoy it, too? It's not fair for me to just drag you to museums and bookstores. There have to be things that are fun for you too."

"Fun for me, eh?" Gaston said, looking intrigued. "Hmm…I did once hear about a dancehall in Paris called Le Fleur Noir. They say the showgirls there are—"

_"Gaston!" _

He had to laugh at her utterly dismayed look. He took her in his arms and kissed her. "I'm _kidding! _What do I want with showgirls when I already have the prettiest girl in the world?" She sighed in relief. "We'll walk around looking at everything, we'll go to shows, we'll eat in fancy restaurants, we'll go out dancing and shopping," he went on. "And I'm sure they have taverns and poker games in Paris. Don't worry; I'll find plenty to do." _And after all, it's our honeymoon, _he thought. _I'll be just as happy if we never leave our hotel room. _

They changed into traveling clothes, and Belle went back to her house to pack a large satchel for the trip. Then they took a carriage to Clermont-Ferrand, where Gaston checked them into the best room at the inn. They would depart for Paris the following morning.

In their room, Gaston lit a fire in the fireplace, then went to the washbasin in the corner of the room to get washed up and ready for bed.

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Belle opened her overnight bag and changed into her nightgown, then got into bed and waited for Gaston to join her. She watched him, her emotions a turmoil of desire, anticipation and trepidation. Her stomach felt like it was full of butterflies. She loved Gaston more than anything, and she wanted to be with him, but she didn't know what to expect. All her fairytales always ended with the wedding. Cecile had taken her aside at the last sewing circle and tried to fill her in, but what she had described…well, it was hard to imagine what it would actually be _like. _How would it feel? What was she supposed to _do, _exactly?

Gaston finished washing up, dried himself off, and turned to Belle. His eyes widened at the sight of her. She was sitting on the bed, wearing a gauzy white nightgown with lacy shoulder straps and a low neckline, exposing more of her creamy flesh than he had yet seen. Her long dark hair was loose around her shoulders, her brown eyes big and luminous.

Seeing him staring, she blushed and ducked her head self-consciously, smiling in an embarrassed way, her hair falling over her face as though she were hiding. It was unlike her – she was usually so forthright and opinionated with him. Seeing her so shy and unsure of herself made Gaston feel suddenly protective of her. Belle might be smart and know a lot about books, but in this area, she was totally inexperienced and innocent.

He had been with many women, of course – bold, loose women he didn't care about in the slightest. With them, it had all been about _his _needs, _his_ gratification. He'd barely given them a second thought. But Belle was different. He had never imagined he could ever feel this way about a woman. He loved her with all his heart, and he truly cared about her. Sitting there self-consciously in her flimsy nightgown, she looked so vulnerable. She made him want to be gentle, to take care of her and make sure she was all right, to give _her_ enjoyment too.

As Gaston thought of this, he also began to see it as a challenge. He wanted Belle to _love_ being with him. He became determined to overcome her shyness and make her feel more pleasure than she ever had before. He mentally vowed that she would love it so much that she couldn't get _enough_ of him. "You are so beautiful," he told her, sitting down on the bed and touching her cheek tenderly.

Belle smiled, trying not to show her nervousness.

But Gaston knew her too well. He put his hand under her chin, tilting her face up to look at him. "You trust me, right?" he asked in concern. "You know I'd never do anything to hurt you. I love you, Belle."

He was so caring, so reassuring, that Belle relaxed a little. His obvious concern for her touched her. He was her best friend, her love, and now her husband, the man she wanted to spend her life with. Everything would be all right as long as they were together. "I know. I guess I'm just a little nervous," she admitted.

"It's okay. We'll take it slow," he promised. He embraced her and kissed her, the way he often did when they were alone on her couch. That felt good, familiar. She found herself responding, melting into his strong arms. He made her feel so safe, so protected, like nothing bad could ever happen to her as long as he was there.

He smiled, seeing her pleasure. He gently pushed her hair off her face and kissed her again. Getting a little bolder, Belle ran her hands over his muscular arms and chest. She remembered that day in the forest, the unexpected longing she'd felt when she'd watched him from afar with his shirt off. Now he was right here, in her bed. He was so powerful, so primal, and he was all _hers_. Her own desire growing, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him deeply.

He lightly kissed her ears, her neck, her shoulder…then gently, he pushed up her nightgown and moved down, bestowing soft kisses on her breasts, her stomach…His hands explored her body, expertly stroking and kneading her soft skin.

"Ohhh…" sighed Belle. She felt like her whole body was tingling, every bit of her skin sensitive and alive at his touch. She had never known she could feel like this. She was full of desire, her body hungering for him.

By the time they joined as one, all her nervousness was long forgotten. She wanted him, needed him. As he moved above her, she felt closer to him than ever before. She felt that they were truly _together, _that they had become one to a degree she could never have imagined. She was swept away by pleasure, transported by waves of ecstasy.

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Afterward, Gaston looked down at her. She looked up, her eyes half-closed, a blissful smile on her face, too overcome to speak at first. Gaston grinned, enjoying the sight. "Liked that, did you?"

"Mmmm…" Belle reached up and touched his cheek. "You're amazing."

"I know," he said proudly, looking very pleased with himself.

Belle made a face. "Hmmph," she said, feigning indignation. "Well, I think _I_ was pretty amazing too, you know!"

Gaston raised an eyebrow, pretending to be shocked. "Belle! _You're _bragging? I must be rubbing off on you."

"Maybe we're rubbing off on each other," she teased. "You wait and see – by tomorrow you'll be reading Shakespeare."

Gaston shuddered. _When pigs fly, _he thought. "Nah," he said, stroking her hair. "I think we're both perfect just the way we are."

Belle reflected on that. "'We're both perfect'…I guess I'll take that as a compliment."

"It is," Gaston said sincerely. "I mean it, Belle. You're incredible. You're beautiful…and smart…and exciting…" Belle smiled. Seeing her satisfied expression, Gaston couldn't resist adding innocently, "Why do you think I wanted to marry you? You were the only one good enough for _me."_

Belle shrieked with laughter, falling back against the pillows. "Oh, _so_ close,Gaston!" she said. "You _almost_ managed to compliment me without complimenting yourself too!" She shook her head. "Okay, that's it, buddy. Now you're in for it."

"What?"

Playfully, she rolled over on top of him, pinning him down, and started tickling him. "I want a _real _compliment! Without you in it!"

"Okay, okay! I give up!" Gaston said, laughing. "You're perfect! You're wonderful! You're the greatest woman in the world!"

"That's better," Belle said, sitting up on his stomach.

He looked up at her in admiration. God, she was irresistible. This was what attracted him to her so much. Not just her looks, but the fact that she had more spirit and fire than any girl he'd ever met. She was so spunky and smart and unpredictable and thrilling…. He grinned at her. "You really are a feisty wench, aren't you?"

She poked him in the chest playfully. "And don't you forget it, mister!"

"Okay," he said. "So tell me…what do I have to do to get you to let me up?"

She pretended to think. "Well…I have a few ideas…" She leaned down and kissed him deeply.

He put his arms around her. "I think I like your ideas," he said, and kissed her back.

The next morning, they left for Paris, a journey that took over a week. As their coach pulled into the City of Lights, they were both impressed by the sight of tall buildings, cobblestone streets, and crowds of elegantly-dressed people and expensive carriages. Gaston was particularly taken with the fine, well-bred horses he saw all around him, far superior to the typical old nags to be found in Molyneaux.

"Hmm…" he said thoughtfully. "Think I can buy a horse while we're here?"

"I'm sure you could. But do you need another horse?" Belle asked.

Gaston nodded. "I've been wanting to breed Tristan for a while, but couldn't find a mare good enough for him back home. But the horses I see here…now _that's _more like it." He paused to admire one such horse passing by. "Besides, you could use a good riding horse when we go out, Belle. It's hard for Phillippe to keep up with Tristan. And if I'm going to teach you to jump, Philippe's not the horse for it."

Belle laughed. "It's true. Philippe hates heights! And Papa did say he'd like to keep Philippe with him. He said it'll be lonely enough having me gone, without losing Philippe too. Maybe it _is _a good idea."

"Great!" Gaston said enthusiastically. There were few things he loved more than picking out a perfect horse. "We'll do that before we leave, then."

The coach arrived at their inn, and they disembarked and checked in. This inn was much more opulent than the one in Clermont-Ferrand. As they entered their room, Belle's eyes lit up with delight. "Look at this place!" There was a huge fireplace, a thick rug, lacy draperies at the windows, and an enormous, four-poster canopy bed. "We're living in the lap of luxury!"

Gaston laughed. "Well, don't get too used to it – it's only for a week."

"Yes…" Belle sat down on the bed. "Gaston, everything has been wonderful, but…can you really _afford _all this?" She didn't want him going bankrupt just to impress her with an extravagant honeymoon.

Gaston looked surprised. "Of course."

"We never really talked about money," she pointed out.

Gaston sat down next to her. "Ah, you want to know if I can support you!" he said, sounding amused. "Well, my father left me the tavern, you know. I pay Julien, the bartender, to run it for me, because I've never been interested in the business side of things. But it's still in my name, and it gives me a good income. My hunting brings in money too: I sell the meat to the butcher, the hides to the tanner, the pelts to the furrier – it all adds up. And I've never had a reason to _spend _much money. I get most of my food from hunting, and my drinks at the tavern are free. All I really pay for is my clothes, and my guns and bullets and arrows, and feed for Tristan…things like that. I have plenty of money saved up, don't worry." He stroked her hair affectionately. "What better to spend it on than our wedding and honeymoon?"

Belle smiled, relieved. "Well, when you put it that way…you're right." She was glad she could enjoy the trip without worrying that it would cause financial hardship.

They went out to explore the city. Belle was delighted to discover that Paris offered plenty of sights and activities that both she and Gaston could enjoy. Over the course of the week, Gaston good-naturedly joined Belle in browsing through museums and bookstores, and she in turn cheerfully accompanied him to gambling casinos and horse races. They both had a good time walking around the city and taking in the sights, shopping, enjoying boat rides on the Seine, eating in fancy restaurants, and going out dancing. One evening they went to the theater, where they laughed at Alain LeSage's comedy _Turcaret. _

And then, there were the days where they had truly _intended_ to get an early start, but upon waking…just didn't feel like getting up. The bed was delightfully warm and comfortable, and they were young and in love and just married. So they would end up spending a long, languorous morning in bed, simply enjoying each other, until finally they emerged from the hotel, blinking in the bright afternoon sunlight. Neither one minded.

On their last day in Paris, Gaston did get them out early, because he wanted to return to the stable he'd checked out earlier in the week and choose a horse to buy. He and Belle walked along the rows of stalls, Gaston looking over the horses with a practiced eye, Belle simply admiring their beauty.

A soft whicker caught Belle's attention. She turned to see a beautiful, glossy black horse with a white star on its forehead, white chest and white socks. "Oh, how lovely!" Belle said. She reached out and stroked the horse's velvety nose. The horse nuzzled against her hand.

Gaston came over to see what she was looking at. He smiled. "Good eye, Belle!" he said approvingly. "I was looking at this one earlier in the week. She's a beauty, isn't she?"

"Is she a good horse?" Belle asked, having no idea how to evaluate one.

Gaston nodded, examining the horse. "She's a Belgian warmblood, about 16 hands, good conformation, good teeth…Seems to have a stable temperament…"

The owner of the stables came over, sensing a possible sale. "Ah, you've met Etoile! You can't go wrong with her. She's out of the Baloubet du Rouet bloodline. She's six years old, spirited and willing, and a good jumper – free-jumps 5 feet easily."

Gaston was interested. "Belle, you like her? Take her for a ride."

The stable owner saddled up the mare and led her to a paddock out back. Belle mounted, took the reins, and rode around the paddock for a while. The mare responded to her lightest touch. "She's lovely!" Belle said as she dismounted. "Can we really get her, Gaston?"

Gaston smiled. "Sure." He went to haggle with the stable owner over price while Belle gave Etoile an apple she had in her basket.

Gaston returned, looking pleased with himself. "Okay, done! We'll pick her up tomorrow morning when we're ready to leave."

Belle hugged him. "Thank you! She's wonderful."

He kissed her forehead. "I'm glad you like her." He was also looking forward with anticipation to the prize colts that would result when Etoile met Tristan.

After lunch, they went to a bookstore, the last one of the trip. Belle picked out some books of fairy tales, fantasy and adventure. "Gaston, look at this," she said, showing him a book. It was a large collection of myths, legends, and adventure stories, most of them featuring valiant, strong heroes. Gaston was pleased. "We could use more good hero stories!" he said enthusiastically. "Maybe we'll read some of them tonight."

A voice caught their attention. "Belle! Gaston! Is that you?" They both looked up.

"Hervé?" Belle said in surprise.

The scholar approached them. "My word! What an extraordinary coincidence! I posted a letter to you only a few days ago, not realizing that you were in town. But what brings you to Paris?"

Belle smiled, a little embarrassed. "Well, actually…we're on our honeymoon," she admitted.

Hervé's eyes widened in surprise. "Indeed? You two are married?"

Belle nodded. "Yes, two weeks ago."

"Ah." Hervé digested this, then smiled warmly. "Well, I'm delighted to hear such good news! You both look very happy."

"Thank you," Belle said, relieved that Hervé didn't seem upset or jealous. "And how are you, Hervé? Do you like the Sorbonne?"

"Yes, very much," Hervé replied. "And I have good news of my own to share – in fact, that is why I wrote to you."

Before he could continue, a young woman came out of the stacks, holding out a book. "Look, Hervé – Monsieur Cerveau's new book analyzing the oeuvre of Beaumarchais! The bookseller said it just came in today—" She stopped, startled at seeing the group.

"Imogene, this is Belle and Gaston," Hervé explained. "They live in Molyneaux, the same village where my uncle resides. I met them a few months ago when I was visiting him."

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance," Imogene said.

"Belle, Gaston…Imogene is my fiancée," Hervé went on proudly, putting his arm around her shoulders.

Belle hadn't expected that. "Congratulations!" she said to both of them.

"_You're _getting married?" Gaston said in surprise. It was hard for him to imagine any woman actually _wanting _to marry Hervé.

"Yes, in April," Imogene replied.

Hervé nodded. "We thought that would be a proper amount of time for a courtship. And the weather will be warmer by then, which will make it so much pleasanter."

"How did you two meet?" Gaston asked, still amazed.

"Imogene is the daughter of the dean at the university. We met at a Christmas party there." Hervé smiled at her fondly. "We had quite the discussion, didn't we?"

Imogene smiled back. "Yes," she said, adding to Gaston, "We had a very spirited debate about the merits of the 'Queen Mab' monologue from _Romeo and Juliet _as it relates to the characterization of Mercutio."

"Yes, it was most stimulating," Hervé added.

"Oh, I'll bet!" Gaston said innocently. "Must have been a thrill a minute." Belle elbowed him in the ribs without looking at him.

"How long will you be in town?" Hervé asked.

"We're leaving tomorrow morning, actually," Belle said. "We've been here a week."

"Well, tonight we're going to attend a lecture at the university on the works of Diderot," Imogene offered. "Would you two care to join us?"

Gaston shot Belle a look that said _Please don't say yes! _

Belle smiled. "Thank you, but we already have plans tonight," she said. "We're going to a cabaret – there'll be dinner and dancing and a show."

Hervé and Imogene exchanged a look that said _Noisy, crowded, loud music – no thanks! _"Well, in that case, I hope you have a good time," Imogene said politely. "It was nice to meet you."

"I'm glad to meet you too," Belle said.

"We should be going," Hervé said. "Belle, I do hope you'll keep in touch."

"I will," she said sincerely. She had been hesitant to write to Hervé about her marriage, not wanting to make him feel bad, but it seemed she had worried for nothing. She added warmly, "I'm very happy for you, Hervé."

"Thank you, Belle," Hervé said. He hesitated a moment, then added, "And I must admit…the points you made in our last conversation turned out to have some validity after all."

Belle took a moment to decipher that. Their last conversation…when she had turned him down, telling him that love was not just a checklist, but a strong emotional bond between two people. She glanced at Imogene, who was waiting for Hervé to join her. "Ah," she said, understanding. "I'm _very _glad to hear that."

Hervé smiled. "Farewell, Belle, Gaston."

"Bye," Gaston said. Hervé and Imogene left the store.

Belle watched them go happily. "Oh, that's wonderful! I'm so glad Hervé found the right girl to marry." Then, putting her arm through Gaston's, she looked up at him and added with a smile, "And I'm even more glad it wasn't me!"

"Me too!" Gaston said, grinning. "Come on, let's go back to the inn and get dressed for our night out."

The evening of dinner, a show, and dancing was all that Belle had hoped it would be. By the time they got back to their room late that night, they were tired but happy. Gaston wanted to hear one of the new hero stories before bed, so Belle lit the kerosene lamp on the night table, got out the new book she'd bought, and snuggled into bed with him. She leaned back against his chest, opened the book and read aloud to him, enjoying the way he listened so intently and commented as they went along. It was so much fun to share stories with him.

The next morning, they said farewell to Paris. Belle sighed happily. "This was a wonderful honeymoon, Gaston. Thank you so much."

"Are you sad that we have to leave?" Gaston asked her as they got into the coach. He wondered if she still secretly dreamed of living in Paris.

Belle shook her head. "No," she said truthfully. "I'm glad I got to see Paris - it was amazing - but I miss Molyneaux. I'm looking forward to going back home, and seeing Papa and our friends…" She smiled at him. "And starting our new life together."

He grinned at her. "Me too." He kissed her. The coach began to move, and they started on their journey.

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_AN: I know I keep having chapters that easily COULD be the end, but it's not quite over yet! There are four more chapters to go. Please stay tuned!_


	28. First Comes Love, Then Comes Marriage

A week later, they were back in Molyneaux.

"Well, here we are," Gaston said proudly. "Home sweet home."

Belle looked up at Gaston's house, so much bigger than the cottage where she'd lived with her father. "Our home…" This was where she and Gaston would grow old together, where they'd raise their children…The thought warmed her heart.

"And I have a surprise for you," Gaston went on.

Belle laughed. "_Another _surprise? Gaston, you're incredible!"

He grinned. "You'll like this. Come here." He led her into the house and stopped in front of a door. "Close your eyes." She did, feeling curious.

He opened the door and led her in. "Okay, open them."

She did, and gasped. The room was a study, with a desk and chair, several comfortable armchairs, and a fireplace. But to Belle's delight, three of the walls were now lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases – 10 in all. One of the bookcases was currently filled; the others were empty. Belle went over to look at the filled one. "Oh!" she said in recognition. "These are _my_ books!"

Gaston nodded. "I had Jacques make all these bookcases while we were away, and your father and LeFou moved your books from your father's house here. It'll be your own private library!" he said proudly. Then he added, "I would have bought books to fill up the other bookcases too, but I figured you'd rather pick them out yourself. No wife of mine is going to _borrow _things she wants. From now on, if you want books, you _buy _them. And now you'll have a place to put them."

Belle threw her arms around him and hugged him. "You are _wonderful!"_

"I know," Gaston said, grinning.

Belle smiled secretively. "I have a surprise for you too…but you'll have to wait till tomorrow night."

"Oh?" Gaston raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Belle laughed. "If I tell you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it? But I need you to be gone all day tomorrow. Go hunting or something."

"No problem there," Gaston said, wondering what she was up to.

They spent the rest of the day unpacking – or attempting to, give that they were frequently interrupted by visitors who stopped by to welcome them back to Molyneaux and ask about the trip. Belle didn't mind; it was wonderful to see her friends again.

The next morning, Gaston was up early for a day of hunting.

"Remember, I don't want to see you back here till 6:00 pm!" Belle told him and kissed him goodbye.

As soon as he was gone, she changed into her oldest dress, tied her hair in a kerchief, and set to work. She spent the next several hours dusting, scrubbing, mopping and polishing until the entire house was spotless and gleaming. Then she took an hour to rest and have a bite to eat.

At noon, Monique and Cecile arrived, loaded down with food, seasonings, and other ingredients. "Did you find out?" Belle asked eagerly.

Cecile nodded. "Mme. Reinard used to chat with Gaston's mother all the time when she ordered dresses," she said. "She says Gaston's favorites are grilled squab, roast venison, buttermilk biscuits, pea soup, dumplings, boiled potatoes and carrots, and apple pie. We bought everything you need with the money you gave us."

Belle sank into a chair. "Oh, I'm exhausted just _hearing_ that list! Can I really make so many things by 6:00?

"We'll help you!" Monique proclaimed.

Belle shook her head stubbornly. "I want to do it myself, with my own two hands. That's what makes it a gift."

Monique smiled. "You'll do all the cooking," she promised. "But we can at least help cut up carrots and peel the potatoes, can't we?"

Belle smiled gratefully. "I guess that'll be all right. And with the cooking…you'll tell me if I'm doing it right, won't you? I only ever cooked for my father and me, and my father never cared much about what he ate. I mainly just cooked simple things."

"Don't worry," Cecile said. "This is going to be delicious. Gaston won't know what hit him!"

"Especially when he tastes _my_ award-winning apple pie recipe!" Monique added.

"But first," Cecile said, "go wash your hair." Belle did that quickly. Then Cecile took out some wooden rollers and expertly wound Belle's hair around them, pinning them in place. "There," she said. "Now it can dry while we're cooking."

They set to work cutting and chopping. As promised, Monique and Cecile let Belle do the actual mixing and stirring and seasoning, teaching her the recipes and offering advice on technique. When the last item, the pie, was finally taken out of the oven, Belle gave a sigh of relief. "It does smell good," she said happily.

"He'll love it," Monique promised.

Belle's eye fell on the clock. "Oh, no! It's already 5:00! And I'm a mess!"

"Go get washed up!" Monique ordered.

Belle went to wash up. Then she put on one of the new, pretty dresses she had bought in Paris, and the pearl earrings from her wedding in her ears. Cecile took the rollers out of her now-dry hair and brushed it out, arranging it in soft waves that flowed around her shoulders. She looked Belle over and smiled. "Oh, Gaston is going to _love _this!"

"Here, Belle," Monique added. "My mother used to use this on special occasions." It was a tiny bottle of scent. Belle dabbed it on her wrists and neck. "Now you're all ready!" Monique pronounced.

Belle hugged them. "Thank you so much! I could never have done this without you."

"That's what friends are for," Monique assured her.

"Tell us on Wednesday how it all went!" Cecile added. The two girls left.

Ten minutes later, Gaston opened the door. He stopped in the doorway. "Hey, the house looks great! And something smells good," he said appreciatively.

Belle came forward. Gaston looked her up and down and let out a whistle. _"Very_ nice!"

"Welcome home," Belle said, smiling. "Here, sit down and put your feet up." Gaston complied. Belle drew up a chair in front of him. With a twinkle in her eye, she drew off his boots one at a time, then massaged his feet.

Gaston stared at her. "Okay…Who are you, and what have you done with Belle?"

Belle laughed. "Don't expect this every day! It's just for tonight. Tomorrow I'll be back to my usual stubborn, opinionated self, arguing with you and driving you crazy," she teased. "But…well…this is our first day in our home as a married couple, and I wanted to do something special for you, to show you how much I love you." She leaned forward and kissed him. "So, tonight…you're the king of the castle. I'll do anything you want."

"Mmm…anything?" he said suggestively, eyeing her.

She smiled. "Yes. But don't you want to start with dinner?"

"Oh, right!" Gaston had almost forgotten about that. It did smell good, though.

Belle got up and brought all the platters of food to the table. Gaston was impressed by the array. "You did all this yourself?"

Belle nodded. "Well, Monique and Cecile helped with the cutting and chopping, and told me the recipes. But I did all the cooking myself," she said proudly.

"My mother used to cook like this," Gaston said reminiscently. He took a bite of squab. "Delicious, Belle! I always knew you had it in you," he added teasingly. It meant a lot to him that she had gone to all this effort to please him. He knew she wasn't really the domestic type. Of course, she had taken care of her father all these years, but in a basic, serviceable way. For her to spent hours scrubbing the house till it gleamed, learning a dozen new recipes and cooking all his favorites, and making herself as pretty as possible, all for him, touched him.

"Thank you," Belle said, pleased. "How did your hunting go today?"

He told her his hunting stories; then she told him about the latest book she was reading. Gaston couldn't take his eyes off her. She just looked so gorgeous tonight.

After dinner, Belle cleared the table, then sat in front of him and looked up at him with what she hoped was an alluring look. "So…what else do you want me to do?" she said suggestively. "I'm all yours, Gaston. Your wish is my command."

Gaston stared at her, hardly able to breathe. Of course, his ideas about women had changed: he knew now that a mindless girl who agreed with him all the time would be boring. He loved Belle's independence – the way she challenged him, keeping things exciting and unpredictable.

But now, knowingfull well how strong-minded she was…the fact that she was _voluntarily _acting this way, offering to do anything he wanted, was incredibly exciting. She was the most thrilling woman he'd ever known. Without a word, he stood up, scooped her up in his arms, kissed her, and carried her upstairs.

Belle couldn't help smiling inwardly at the obvious effect she was having on him. She had never, ever been the flirtatious type. She'd never had any interest at all in going out of her way to attract a man – it seemed silly to her. But to act this way with a man she truly _loved, _a man who would do anything in his power to make her happy, as a gift to him…well, that was different. It was kind of fun, she had to admit. As he carried her into the bedroom and closed the door, she knew it would be a memorable night.

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The months passed, and the weather turned warmer. Monique had a baby girl named Anne, and the sewing circle rejoiced. Belle began to make preparations for her upcoming role as schoolteacher. Eagerly, she pored over books about how to teach children, wrote out lesson plans, chose storybooks at different levels that she thought would engage their attention, and ordered numerous copies of each one.

One evening in August, Gaston smiled to see her sitting at the desk in her study/library, concentrating so hard as she wrote. "Hard at work, huh?" he said, coming up behind her and putting his arms around her. He kissed the top of her head.

She turned in the chair and hugged him. "School is less than two weeks away. I want to make sure I'm ready." She sighed. "I have to admit…I'm a little nervous. There'll be a whole roomful of kids, ranging from age five to age ten, and from what you've told me, they haven't had much reason to be enthusiastic about school so far. I have to teach all of them, at all different levels, _and _keep order and discipline, _and _hopefully manage to actually get them _interested _in reading…Can I really _do_ this?" She looked up at him uncertainly.

"Of course!" Gaston proclaimed immediately. "You're my wife! You can do anything!" Belle gave him a look that was half-exasperated, half-amused. Gaston grinned sheepishly. "Sorry! Habit." He thought a moment, then said, "What I mean is, you're a hundred times smarter and better with kids than any teacher we've gotten before. And I've seen you with Emile's boys – they love you, and you've done a great job teaching them. You'll be the best teacher this village has ever had! These kids will be lucky to have you."

Belle smiled. "Much better," she said, kissing him. "Thank you."

On September 1st, Belle stood nervously in front of the mirror. She had put her hair in a bun, which she thought would seem more adult and mature than a ponytail…but did it make her look too stern? She had picked out a simple, conservative dress with a high lace collar, long sleeves and floor-length skirt, but it was a cheery butter yellow, which she hoped would send the children the message that she was friendly and approachable.

Her outfit had seemed like a good idea when she'd planned it out, but now, looking in the mirror, she felt ridiculous, like a little girl dressing up in her mother's clothes. Would the children really take her seriously as a teacher? What if they all ran wild and ignored her completely? She found herself starting to panic.

Gaston came downstairs and smiled at the sight of her. "Look at you! All dressed up and ready to go!" He looked her up and down admiringly. "If I'd had teachers who looked like you, I wouldn't have complained about going to school."

Belle blushed. "I'm not sure if that's good or bad," she admitted. "Would you have listened to me as an authority figure and done what I told you to?"

"Oh, I would've done _anything _you told me to," Gaston said, grinning.

Belle made a face and hit him lightly on the arm. "Stop that! That's not what I meant!"

Gaston laughed. It was fun to tease her. "Sorry, it's just that you're gorgeous, and you're my wife…I can't help thinking that way." He kissed her. "Don't worry. You'll do great."

Belle smoothed down her skirt. "All right. I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"Okay, then. Let's go," Gaston said. He was going to walk her to the school for her first day.

As they approached the modest one-room schoolhouse, Belle saw 30 children of varying ages around the front of the school. Some were in small groups talking; others were chasing each other around. Belle knew them all, at least by sight. She was especially glad to see Raoul and Renaud among them. The two boys ran up to her excitedly. "Hi, Belle!"

"Hello," she said, smiling. "I'm so glad to see you! But when we're in school, you have to call me Madame Avenant. Think you can remember that?" They nodded.

It was 8:00 a.m. Belle went up to the school bell and pulled on the rope. The children looked up at the loud ringing and started to file into the building. Belle glanced one last time at Gaston, who gave her an encouraging wave, then went inside.

The children took their seats. The younger ones looked curious; the older ones looked bored, knowing already that school wasn't a place they wanted to be.

Belle sat on the front edge of her desk, facing them. "Good morning, children. I am your new teacher, Madame Avenant. Now, first things first: I've heard that the teachers you had before me were really boring. Is that right?"

The children giggled and perked up, looking a lot more interested. They hadn't expected that.

Belle smiled. "As you know, I'm here to teach you how to read…but that's not all. What I want to do even more is to show you that reading is _fun. _Books can take us on the most amazing adventures! If you can read, it opens up a whole new world for you. So, instead of starting off with a lesson or exercise, I thought I'd begin by reading a story to you, to show you what I mean."

The children were pleased. School normally began with dull memorization, painstakingly copying out moral homilies, and repeating lessons by rote.

Belle had thought long and hard about what story to read. At first she had considered _Hercules,_ since that was the one that had swayed diehard book-hater Gaston. But it occurred to her that a solely fight-oriented story might not appeal to all the children, particularly the girls. So she'd finally decided on _Jack and the Beanstalk_, which Raoul and Renaud loved. The hero was an ordinary child, much like themselves; it was about the mundane (beans) becoming magical, which was a theme she liked; there was a giant, for those who liked monsters, but there were also gentler magical creatures and objects: a golden harp that played music by itself and a hen that lay gold eggs. She hoped there would be enough variety in the story to appeal to all the children.

She opened the book. "Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Jack—"

"I know that one! That's a good one!" Raoul burst out excitedly.

Belle smiled. "Thanks for your enthusiasm, Raoul, but in school, we raise our hands if we want to say something," she said gently.

"Oh, sorry!" he said, settling down.

As Belle read the story, holding the book up to show the pictures, she was thrilled to see that all the children's eyes were on her, and they were leaning forward, eager to find out what happened next. _Got 'em! _she thought triumphantly. Her nervousness had vanished once she began reading. Now she was enjoying herself.

When she finished the book, she said, "Learning to read can be hard work, but the reward is that you can read great stories like this all by yourself. And I'll make you a promise right now: in this class, we will _not _be reading boring primers and lessons! Ever! Just good stories."

The class cheered at that. Belle stood up. "Now, I'm going to pass out some books for you. Those of you who don't know how to read at all, raise your hands." The younger children did. Belle held up a book with an apple on the cover and the letters ABC. "These are alphabet books. Every word in a story is made up of letters, and you have to know how the letters sound in order to read the story. When I give you these books, look at the letters and see what sound they make by looking at the picture. I'll help you in a minute." She passed out the books. The children looked delighted to see the bright, colorful pictures.

"Now, the rest of you. Here's _Jack and the Beanstalk_, the story I just read to you. I'm going to pass out copies to all of you. Sit with a partner, and take turns reading a page out loud. Try to help each other if you make a mistake. After I finish working with the younger children, I'm come sit with you and listen to you read."

The rest of the time passed quickly. At 9:10, Belle switched from reading to writing, helping the children write the letters of the alphabet, simple words, or actual sentences, depending on their level. At 10:20, she called a recess, passed out snacks of fruits and nuts that she'd brought, and let the children go play outside for 20 minutes. When they returned, they worked on arithmetic. At noon, school was over for the day.

Gaston was waiting outside when Belle emerged, having returned to pick her up. As she approached, he saw that her eyes were shining and her cheeks were rosy. She looked so alive, almost glowing with enthusiasm. He loved seeing her that way.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

"Oh, Gaston, it was wonderful!" Belle said happily. "I really felt like I was getting through to them. I could almost see the wheels in their heads turning."

"I knew you could do it!" Gaston said proudly. "And here – these are for you." He held out a bouquet of flowers. "First day and all."

Belle was touched. "Thank you, Gaston. That was sweet of you." With a new bounce in her step, she headed for home at his side.

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One Wednesday afternoon two months later, Belle left the home of the village midwife, full of joy and excitement. "A baby," she whispered in wonder. She touched her stomach with a feeling of awe. To think that she was carrying a new life inside her, one that would eventually become a real _person, _with its own thoughts and dreams and ideas…

It was funny, she mused. She had always resented the idea of being "merely" a wife and mother, yearning to do something important and satisfying with her life. Being a teacher had fulfilled that wish for her. But now that she was actually going to _be _a mother, she realized that _that _was an important and significant role too, creating and nurturing a whole new life. Women giving birth was such a common, everyday occurrence…yet it was also truly a miracle, and the enormity of it humbled her.

She hurried to LeFou and Amelie's house, where the sewing circle was being held that week. To accommodate Belle's teaching schedule, the group had switched the meeting time from mornings to afternoons. Amelie opened the door and immediately smiled. "Belle! You're practically glowing! What's going on?"

"Are the other girls here? And…is it _just_ the girls? Are we alone?" Belle asked as she entered. "This is definitely private girl talk!"

Amelie nodded. "LeFou's out hunting with your husband, and Cecile's little boys are with their grandma today."

"So, spill!" said Monique eagerly from the armchair. She was holding her own four-month-old baby.

"Well," Belle began, "I just went to the midwife—"

She was interrupted by Monique's joyful shriek. "I _knew_ it! You've had that look about you lately!" She quickly put her baby into the bassinet on the floor, ran over to Belle and hugged her. "When are you due?"

Belle had to laugh at her enthusiasm. "May."

"Congratulations!" said Josette.

"Welcome to the club," said Cecile with a smile.

"How do you feel?" Amelie asked.

"Excited, but nervous," Belle admitted. "I just hope I can be a good mother. Honestly, I have no idea what I'm doing!"

Monique smiled. "Everyone feels that way at first. You'll do fine."

"Besides, you have lots of experience with kids from your teaching," Cecile pointed out.

"Oh! My teaching!" Belle looked startled. "Who will watch the baby in the mornings while I'm teaching?"

"I can do it, if you want," Monique offered immediately.

"Really? You could do that?" Belle asked. She thought for a moment, calculating. "The baby is due in May, but school lets out for the summer on June 1 – I'm sure I can ask the council to start the vacation a few weeks early, whenever the baby is born. So I can spend the whole summer with the baby. I wouldn't need help till September. But…you have your own baby to take care of, Monique. Are you sure you want to watch mine too?"

"That's all right. I _love_ babies," Monique reassured her. "I want to have as many as possible myself! I used to watch all my brothers and sisters when I was a kid; I'm used to it. And Anne will be over a year by the time I start watching yours. It'll be fine, don't worry. Besides, she should get used to having a baby around, because she's definitely going to be having lots of brothers and sisters!" she added.

"Thank you _so_ much!" Belle said gratefully. "And I'll return the favor, I promise! Anytime you need me to watch Anne, I'll be happy to do it."

"You have a deal," Monique said, smiling. "That's what we're here for, to help each other out." She scooped up Anne from the bassinet and brought her over to Belle. "Here, you can practice right now!" She put the baby into Belle's arms.

Belle smiled at the infant. "She's so beautiful, Monique." She felt a thrill at the thought that she would soon have one of her very own.

"If she soils herself, I'll let you clean her up and change her. It'll be good practice for you," Monique suggested.

Cecile laughed. "Ah, very clever, Monique!" she teased. "Get Belle to do your work for you, and pretend you're really doing _her _a favor by giving her practice!" The girls all laughed.

The afternoon flew by as the women talked of babies and childbirth. Cecile and Monique shared their stories and experiences; Belle, Amelie and Josette were full of questions. When Belle left, she was practically bursting with happiness. It was so comforting to know that she wouldn't be alone in this exciting new stage of her life. She had good friends who had been through the same thing and who were more than willing to offer advice and support.

That evening at dinner, Gaston kept glancing at her. "Is something going on, Belle? You keep smiling."

"Mmm…well, yes, I do have something to tell you," Belle said, enjoying the surprise. "I have some big news for you…We're going to have a baby!"

Gaston's eyes widened. Then he let out a whoop. "_Yes! _I knew it!" He jumped up eagerly, hugged Belle, picked her up and swung her around in his excitement. Then he suddenly stopped, looking guilty. "Oh…I shouldn't do that! You're delicate. Here, sit down. Put your feet up. Oh, wait a minute!" Quickly he rushed to the living room, grabbed a throw pillow, raced back to Belle and carefully placed the pillow behind her back, to cushion her from the hard back of the chair. "There! Can I get you anything else? Do you need a drink of water or something?"

Belle giggled. He could be so sweet sometimes. "It's all right," she assured him. "I haven't suddenly turned into a porcelain doll! Women have been giving birth forever."

"Not to my son, they haven't!" Gaston said firmly. "I'm going to be extra careful with you!"

"How do you know it's a son?" Belle teased. "Could be a daughter."

"A daughter?" Gaston was startled. He'd never thought of that. He had always envisioned himself the father of a brood of strapping sons.

He mulled that over for a moment. Then he grinned. "Well, if it _is _a girl, she'll be beautiful and smart like you. But we'll have to keep an eye on the boys when they start coming around!"

Belle laughed. "Believe me, with you as her father, the boys will be on their best behavior," she said in amusement.

"They'd better be!" Gaston said firmly, already suspicious of potential future suitors.

"So…you won't be upset if it's a girl?" Belle asked cautiously. She had been worried about that possibility.

Gaston shrugged. "Nah. Besides," he added philosophically, "with six or seven kids, _some _of 'em have gotta be boys, right?" He definitely wanted sons to go hunting with him and carry on his name. But with so many children, a couple of girls might be nice too, he decided.

"Six or seven?" Belle's eyes widened. "Oh, no, no, no! I love children, but that's too many!"

Gaston was surprised. "Well, how many do _you _want, then?"

"I was thinking more like two," Belle admitted.

"_Two?" _That was hardly any! What kind of proper family was that?

He looked so crushed and disappointed that Belle had to laugh. "We'll work it out. I'm sure we'll come to a compromise – we always do." She thought a moment. "Maybe four?"

Gaston considered this. Four at least was a decent family, not embarrassingly small. "All right," he said, smiling. "Four." And besides, he told himself, once Belle actually _became _a mother, she would surely love it so much that she would want as many children as possible, he told himself confidently. They'd end up having six or seven after all, he was certain.

Right now, though, it was time to focus on Baby No. 1. "Just tell me if you need anything, Belle," he said. "You have to take it easy the next few months." A thought struck him. "What about school?" he asked anxiously. "You shouldn't be working if you're with child!"

"It's fine," Belle assured him. "I'm only going to be sitting at a desk talking to children, after all. It's not like I'm lifting heavy weights! And school is only four hours a day." She patted her stomach. "The baby isn't due till May, anyway."

"Oh, that's all right then," Gaston said with relief. "And it will give the town council plenty of time to find a replacement."

Belle frowned. "Replacement? What do you mean?"

"Another teacher," Gaston explained. "You know, to take over once the baby is born."

Belle was beginning to get a bad feeling about this. "Gaston, I'm still going to keep teaching after the baby is born."

"Well, _eventually_, sure," Gaston agreed. "Once he's old enough to go to school himself. But not when he's a baby."

_"Yes, _when he's a baby!" Belle insisted in exasperation. "Gaston, I didn't take this job just to _quit _after a few months."

Gaston stared at her in disbelief. "Belle! You can't be serious! You're going to just abandonyour baby just so you can go off to work?"

"I'm not _abandoning_ him!" Belle protested. "Monique already offered to watch him while I'm at school."

"Monique?" Gaston shook his head disapprovingly. "She's not his mother! She isn't even family!" How could Belle even _think _of handing their precious baby over to some outsider, just so she could go off to be with _other _people's kids? He was horrified at the very idea.

"All right, then. If you feel that only family can take care of him…how about _you _watch him while I'm teaching?" Belle suggested. "You're his father, after all."

"Yes, I'm his _father! _Not his mother!_" _Gaston shot back. "I _know _my responsibilities. I provide for the family, keep everyone fed and clothed and sheltered. And if it's a boy, I'm going to take him hunting and fishing and teach him everything I know. But when he's a baby, he needs his _mother!_" He thought of his own mother, so loving and so utterly devoted to him. His child deserved no less. _"My_ mother stayed home with me _all_ the time. She loved me more than anything. _Nothing _was more important to her than taking care of me. That's how a mother should be!"

Belle felt a twinge of guilt and self-doubt. Could Gaston be right? She wanted so much to be a good mother, to do everything right and give their baby a wonderful, loving childhood. Would her baby truly miss her and suffer if she was away for just a few hours each day?

But then she thought of the schoolchildren. They were making so much progress, learning to read and, even better, to _enjoy _reading. She was doing so much good there, and she loved her job. She couldn't bear to give it up now. And she didn't want to let the children down, either, when they were doing so well. That didn't make her a bad mother…did it? It was only a few hours in the morning, after all – she'd be home by lunchtime..

Her thoughts were interrupted by Gaston. "I can't believe you're being so _selfish,_ Belle! Don't you care at all about our baby?"

Belle was stung by the accusation. "How can you _say _that?" And look who was talking – the _king _of selfish! Defensively, she lashed out. "For heaven's sake, you make it sound like I'm leaving him out in the forest to starve! Monique will take perfectly good care of him! He'll be fine." She glared at him. "I'm disappointed in you, Gaston. This job was _your _idea in the first place! I _told _you right from the start, long before we were ever a couple, that I can't be happy just being a housewife and mother. I _need_ to do something more with my life. I thought you understood how important this is to me."

"More important than our _baby?"_ Gaston accused.

"I didn't _say _that!" Belle snapped. Then, suddenly suspicious, her eyes narrowed. "What did you think – that this was just some cute little hobby to keep me busy until I started popping out babies? And then I'd just turn into a mindless, happy little housewife who wants nothing more than—"

"_Stop it!" _Gaston shouted, fury blazing in his blue eyes. She had never seen him so angry. "Don't you _dare _start telling me I'm 'primeval', or that I want women to be slaves, or any of that crap! I've proven _plenty _of times that I want you to be happy. I built you a library, I'm always bragging to everyone about how smart you are…like you said, it was even _my _idea for you to get this job in the first place! Don't you make me the bad guy just because I want you to take care of your own _child!"_

He stood breathing heavily for a moment, trying to calm down. "Look, Belle. If you want to go back to work when the baby is older, maybe four years old, I can accept that. But when he's little, the baby _has_ to come first. It's _your _job to stay home with him and take care of him - _all _the time, Belle, not just when _you_ feel like it!"

"So you want me to stay home with him for four whole years…and what happens when we have _other _children?" Belle pointed out. "You'll expect me to give up teaching for four years when _they're _born too! I'll end up _never _going back!"

Gaston hadn't thought that far ahead. "We'll deal with that when the time comes. Right now, the most important thing is our baby," he said stubbornly. He set his jaw in determination. "That's it. It's settled. I'll tell the town council that come May, they'll need to find a new teacher."

"Oh, no, you _won't!"_ Belle said, utterly livid. Nothing, absolutely _nothing,_ made her as angry as someone giving her orders or telling her what to do. "You do _not _get to make decisions for me, Gaston! And I _am_ going to keep teaching after this baby is born, whether you like it or not!"

Gaston stared at her, gritting his teeth in frustration. Then, without a word, he stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

Belle sank down into a chair, angry and upset. How could he _do _this to her? They were going to have a baby – the most joyous news imaginable. This should be the most loving, happy time of their marriage so far. Instead, they were fighting and yelling at each other. The fact that the pregnancy was making her more emotional and sensitive than usual didn't help either. She didn't know whether she wanted to scream in frustration or burst into tears. If Gaston loved her, how could he insist she give up something that meant so much to her, and then call her "selfish" because she didn't want to? And then, to have the unmitigated gall to announce that _he _would go to the council himself and make her lose her job, how _dare _he? He didn't have the right to decide her life for her! She was getting angrier by the minute.

She got up and paced, too upset and agitated to sit still. If only she could talk to someone…In that moment, she yearned to see her father. Ever since she was a little girl, he was the one who was always there for her, the one person she could always turn to for understanding and comfort and advice. He would hug her and sympathize and tell her everything would be all right. Belle put on her coat, went outside, and headed over the bridge to Maurice's little cottage.

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Gaston stormed into the tavern. "Ale, Julien," he snapped at the bartender, then drank the drink down in one gulp.

The other men glanced at each other. It was never a secret when Gaston was in a bad mood. "Something wrong, Gaston?" LeFou ventured.

Gaston set the mug down on the counter with a bang, scowling. "Belle's going to have a baby."

The men's eyes widened, and they stared at him in utter confusion. "Congratulations," LeFou said cautiously. "That's…_good _news, isn't it?"

"Of course it is!" Gaston snapped impatiently. The congratulations made him even more annoyed at Belle. He should be in a _great _mood, having just heard the best news a man could hear (next to the baby actually being born of course). He should be buying rounds of drinks for everyone and bragging about what a big, strong son he would have. Instead, Belle and her stubbornness had ruined what should have been his finest moment!

He sat down grumpily in his antlered chair. "Belle says she doesn't want to stay home and take care of the baby like she's supposed to! Can you believe it?"

The men gasped in shock. "She doesn't want to take care of it at _all?"_ Jacques asked in disbelief.

"Well…no, not at _all,"_ Gaston had to admit. "She says she'll take care of the baby after school each day, when she's done teaching. But this is _my child!_ He deserves to have the best of everything – and that means his mothertaking care of him, not being handed off to someone else. There's _nothing _Belle can do that's more important than that!" He scowled. "I tried to be nice. I even told her she could go back to work when the baby is older. But she insists that she won't give up teaching, even when he's tiny! She's so _stubborn!" _He slammed his fist on the bar in frustration.

"That _is_ strange," Francois said. "Don't all women _dream _of having a baby? I thought that's all they ever wanted."

"Well, you know Belle – she always has to do things her own way," LeFou said, trying to be reassuring. "But you always manage to work things out with her, one way or another. It'll work out."

Emile nodded. "It's true, Belle's always been different from the other girls, with the reading and all," he agreed. "We've always known that. But I have to say, my Cecile thinks the world of her. Says she has a good heart."

"Amelie too," LeFou agreed. "She's always saying how smart Belle is."

"And my boys adore her," Emile went on. "They _love_ going to school - they can't wait to get there each day. Why, they can read almost as well as _me_ now!"

"That's a good point," weighed in the cobbler. "My son is 10, and just the other day he said to me, 'Madame Avenant is such a great teacher! Why couldn't she have come sooner? She's the best. All the other teachers I had were awful."

"Well, of _course_ she's the best!" Gaston said, his pride overriding his annoyance. "She's my wife! And she's the smartest woman in the whole village."

"I have to admit, it _would _be sort of a shame to lose her as a teacher," Emile said. "Although it's also true that a baby needs his mother…"

The men reflected on this.

"If she keeps teaching, who would take care of the baby?" Claude asked curiously.

"Monique, she says," Gaston replied.

"Oh, in that case, you have nothing to worry about!" Jacques reassured him cheerfully. "Monique is _wonderful_ with babies! She's the oldest of five, you know; she's been taking care of her brothers and sisters since she could walk. And you should see her with our Anne! Gets her to stop crying just like that. She has a real magic touch with babies. Loves taking care of 'em."

Gaston was slightly mollified to hear that. "So…you think I _should_ let Belle do this?" He looked around the tavern. The men looked at each other, not knowing what the right answer was. They were used to Gaston telling them "This is the way it is," not him asking _them _for advice.

Jacques shrugged. "It's up to you. I'm just saying that if she _does _keep teaching, your baby will be in great hands while she's doing it."

"Mmm." Gaston put his chin in his hand, pondering this. Maybe he had been too hard on Belle? She really _did _love teaching, it was true. And if Monique was so wonderful with babies, maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all…

"So…what happened with Belle?" LeFou asked. "You told her to quit teaching, she said no…How'd it end up?"

"Oh, we had a big fight over it," Gaston said, rolling his eyes.

The men exchanged a look. Gaston's eyes narrowed. "What?" he asked, looking around at them.

"Did you yell at her?" Emile asked.

"Well, sure," Gaston said, confused. It wasn't like these men never fought with their wives. "So?"

Emile shook his head admonishingly. "Gaston…she's _with child!_ Anything she sees or hears now can affect the baby!"

"It can?" Gaston was startled. He hadn't known that. Then again, being an only child with no aunts, he'd never really been around pregnant women.

Stephane, an old white-haired man wearing a sailor hat, nodded sagely. "My granny once told me of an expectant mother who was walking along one day when a vicious dog jumped out at her, growling. Scared the daylights out of her! She ran home in a terrible fright." Stephane leaned forward and spoke in a stage whisper. "When her baby was born…it had the head of a dog!"

"No!" the other men gasped in horror.

"It's the gospel truth," Stephane said. "My granny had a friend whose cousin's sister-in-law's aunt knew the woman it happened to!"

Emile nodded. "Anything can affect an expectant mother and her child," he said with certainty. "If she hears sour words while she's expecting, it can turn her milk sour. If she cries a lot, the baby's life might be full of sorrow."

"And she has to be kept calm and peaceful till the baby's born," Jacques added. "If she gets too upset, it can make the baby come too early!"

Gaston jumped up, alarmed. "Really?" Belle had been _very _upset before he stormed out of the house. "I have to go see if she's all right!"

"Yeah, I hope she's okay!" LeFou said worriedly.

Gaston raced out of the tavern and ran home, full of remorse. His anger at Belle was forgotten; now all he cared about was making sure she and the baby were safe. He flung open the door, his heart pounding. "Belle?" The house was quiet. He raced up the stairs, tripping in his haste, calling her name. Frantically he threw open doors, looking through all the rooms. "Belle!" There was no sign of her.

He stood still, panicking, his mind racing. If the baby had started coming too soon, where would Belle go? _The midwife! _Immediately, he went out and ran toward the midwife's house, praying he wasn't too late.

O o o o o oo o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o oo o o o o o o o o o o o o oo

"Belle! What's wrong?" Maurice asked in concern as he opened the door. He was always glad to see Belle, but a visit this late in the evening was unusual, and she was obviously upset.

Belle hugged him. "Oh, Papa…I'm sorry to bother you so late, but I just need someone to talk to."

"Of course. You know I'm always here for you," Maurice said, patting her on the back.

"Thanks, Papa," Belle said. Just being with him was comforting. She went into the living room and sat down on the couch. "Well…Papa…first of all, I have some big news. You're going to be a grandfather!"

Maurice's eyes lit up. "Really? You're having a baby? Oh, Belle, that's marvelous! I can't believe it!" He allowed himself a moment to marvel over the announcement. Then he frowned. "But Belle…why were so you upset when you came here?"

"It's Gaston," Belle said in exasperation. "He insists that I give up teaching when the baby is born. But I don't _want_ to, Papa! I love my job, and the children are learning so much. And it's only four hours a day, in the morning, and Monique already agreed to watch my baby while I'm at work…It seemed perfect. But Gaston says I'm selfish to want to keep working instead of staying home with the baby all day." She looked at Maurice pleadingly. "Am I?

"Of course not!" Maurice said loyally. "You're the most unselfish person I know! You're loving, and caring, and generous…that's what makes you such a great teacher. And that's why I know you'll be a great mother, too."

"Thanks," Belle said gratefully. "It's just…Papa, this is my first baby, and I want so much to do everything right and be a good mother! But I love teaching, too. I don't want to give it up."

"I know," Maurice said. "You've always wanted to do something big and important with your life, ever since you were a little girl. I don't see why you can't do both, though, if Monique is willing to watch the baby."

"Well, Gaston doesn't think so," Belle said bitterly. "I don't know what's _wrong_ with him! He's been fine with my teaching up till now. In fact, he was the one who arranged for me to have the job in the first place! But now we've found out we're having a baby…and suddenly he expects me to quit teaching and stay home all the time! He says _his_ mother stayed home with him all the time. But I'm not like his mother; he should know that by now!" Belle was getting angry all over again. "I _told _him right from the start that I needed more out of life than being a wife and mother. He knows that my teaching is important to me! Why would he suddenly go back to the way he used to be, thinking that women should do nothing more than cook and clean and take care of babies? He's being completely unreasonable!"

She looked to her father for agreement. But to her chagrin, Maurice merely looked thoughtful. "Papa?" she asked, a little uncertainly. "I'm – I'm right, aren't I?"

"Well…" Maurice said slowly. "I know how you feel, sweetheart. I think you'll make a great mother, and I bet you could keep teaching after the baby is born. But to be honest, I think you're being a little hard on Gaston."

"I am?" Belle said in surprise.

"Belle, when a man finds out he's going to become a father…" Maurice smiled reminiscently. "Ah, suddenly, _everything _changes! Suddenly, your whole life revolves around this new, tiny person who's about to come into your life – your own flesh and blood. Even before the baby is born, you love it with an intensity you never could have imagined. Suddenly, the most important thing in the entire world is making sure your child is safe and happy. You would do anything for it, even give your life. Everything has to be absolutely perfect…nothing is too good for your baby." Maurice looked at Belle. "That's how Gaston feels right now. He loves this baby and wants it to have the very best life possible. His own mother stayed home with him and devoted herself to him…so, that's what he wants for his child."

"Oh…" said Belle slowly. The idea that Gaston was already so concerned and so devoted to their child's welfare put a different perspective on things. She suddenly understood that he wasn't inexplicably going back to his old attitude of looking down on women, as she had feared. That had been her knee-jerk assumption when he told her to give up her job. But…he had _also_ said he wouldn't mind her going back to work when the baby was older. Gaston wasn't completely against the idea of Belle working…he just wanted his baby to be happy. Which was not a terrible thing, she had to admit.

Maurice's voice interrupted her thoughts. "When Gaston said this to you, what did you say? Did you tell him how you're going to arrange things so the baby is well taken care of, even if you work?"

"Well…, no, not really," Belle admitted guiltily. "I mean, I did tell him that Monique would watch the baby. But mostly I just kept telling him how important my job was to me, and that I refused to quit, and that it was unfair it was to expect me to give up something I loved…" She looked remorsefully at her father. "Oh, Papa, I musthave sounded so selfish! Like I don't care about the baby at all, only myself. No wonder Gaston was upset with me. But I didn't _mean_ it that way!"

"I know you didn't," Maurice reassured her.

"But Gaston doesn't know," Belle said. She stood up. "I have to go talk to him. I have to apologize and explain."

"That's a good idea. You both need to calm down and talk things out," Maurice said, getting up too. "And don't worry. All married couples have arguments sometimes. It's natural. And sometimes, we get angry, or we say things we don't mean, or things come out wrong."

"Yes," Belle said with a sigh. "We were both yelling by the end. Gaston even said he'd go to the council personally and tell them to replace me. I was so mad! I told him it wasn't his decision to make, and that I was going to keep teaching no matter _what _he said."

Maurice smiled. "Well, both of you are pretty stubborn and don't like to back down," he said fondly.

Belle smiled sheepishly. "It's true. I complain about him being too stubborn and pigheaded…but he probably says the same about me!"

"In that case, I'd say you're an even match for each other," Maurice said with a smile.

Belle went to the door and turned. "Thank you for listening, Papa."

"Any time," Maurice said. "You'll always be my little girl, no matter how old you get."

"Any other wise fatherly advice before I leave?" she asked. "I could use all the help I can get!"

"Hmm…well, actually I do have some advice," Maurice said. "Just remember that marriage is a partnership. You're both on the same side. It's not a war where you're trying to defeat the other person to get what you want. So if you have a disagreement, you need to truly _listen_ to each other, and understand how the other person feels, and work together to solve the problem so _both _of you can be happy."

Belle kissed him. "That _is _good advice. I'll try to remember that."

She left the cottage and headed back over the bridge, determined to set things right.

--------------------------------

_AN to Diana: Yes, I DID fix the bandage thing in the earlier chapter because of your earlier review! It was a good point that I hadn't thought of, so thanks for pointing it out to me!_


	29. The Circle of Life

As Belle approached the house, she saw Gaston outside. He ran toward her. "Belle!" he said frantically. "Are you all right? Is the baby all right?" To her surprise, he knelt in front of her and put his ear against her belly. "He's not kicking!"

"They don't kick this soon," Belle said, bewildered. "Not for a few months yet."

Gaston looked relieved. He stood up and cupped her face in his hands, searching her eyes. "But you're all right? He's all right?"

"Yes, of course. Everything is fine," Belle said. "What on earth—"

"Thank God!" Gaston said, and embraced her tightly.

When he released her, she looked up at him in confusion. "What's going on?"

"The guys told me if I yelled at you and got you all upset, it could make the baby come too soon," Gaston said remorsefully. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. So I came running back here to see if you were all right – but you weren't here. I couldn't find you anywhere! I went to the midwife, to all your friends – no one knew where you were." He shook his head, and she could see how panicked he had been. "God, Belle, if anything happened to you…"

Belle was touched that he had been so worried about her. He really did love her. She reached out and touched his cheek tenderly. "I'm sorry I worried you. I didn't mean to." Trying to lighten the mood, she added, "Anyway, Gaston, I know you can do a lot of things, but I don't think even _you _have the power to make a baby be born with just your voice."

Gaston grinned sheepishly. It _did _sound silly when she put it that way. "You never know," he said lightly. "I'm a man of many talents."

"That you are," she said fondly.

"But where _were_ you, Belle?" Gaston asked. "I looked everywhere."

"Oh. Well, I _was _a little upset about our fight, so I went to talk to my father. That's all."

Gaston looked guilty. "Yeah, about the fight. Belle, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have attacked you like that. Here you are, expecting a baby, and I'm yelling at you."

"Well, I yelled at you too," Belle pointed out apologetically. "And I'm sorry too, Gaston. I know now that you were just worried about the baby. I probably sounded very selfish. But I didn't mean to."

"Let's get you inside," Gaston said, putting his arm around her protectively. "You shouldn't be out here in the cold."

Inside, they sat together on the couch. "Gaston, I think our problem was that both of us just _assumed_ things would be a certain way," Belle said. "I took it for granted that I'd keep working after the baby was born, and you took for granted that I wouldn't. But having a baby – this is all _new_ to us. There's no one 'right' way to do it. We really need to talk about it and figure things out together."

"Yeah, you're right," Gaston agreed.

Belle put her hand on his. "Gaston, this baby means everything in the world to me, and I want to be the best mother I possibly can. You have to know that I would never do anything that would be bad for him. That's why, if I _do_ work, I'm going to do everything I can to make sure it doesn't affect him at all."

"How?" Gaston asked curiously.

"Well, I've been thinking a lot about it," Belle explained. "School is closed for the summer starting June 1. The baby is due in May. I'm going to ask the council if they can close the school a few weeks earlier this year, when the baby is born. I'm sure they'll agree. So when he's first born, I _will _be home with him for the first three and a half months, not working at all, just taking care of him. And I was also thinking…I can work his schedule around school. I'll get him up early in the morning and play with him for a few hours, and then I can put him down for his morning nap just before I leave. So even though I'll be gone for four hours, he'll be asleep half that time and won't even know I'm gone. So it'll be like I'm only gone for _two_ hours. That's not _so _bad, is it?"

"No, I guess not," Gaston had to admit.

"And Monique will be here," Belle went on. "She's an expert at taking care of babies—"

"I know. Jacques told me."

"—and then I'll be home by noon, and I'll be with the baby for the whole rest of the day," Belle finished. "Think about it, Gaston: there's 24 hours in a day, and I'll be with him for 20 of them. And there'll only be two hours when he's awake and I'm not there, and he'll be with Monique then. I don't think he'll miss me _that _much for such a short time, do you?"

Gaston reflected. "When you put it like that, it does sound okay. I shouldn't have flown off the handle like that." He looked at her with admiration. "I should have known you were clever enough to figure it all out and make it work. You're the smartest woman in the village, after all!"

"Well, I try," Belle said with a smile.

"But won't it be a lot of work, Belle? Teaching at the school _and _taking care of the baby? Can you really handle it all?" Gaston asked.

"Honestly? I don't know," Belle admitted. "I've never been a mother before! But I'd like to at least _try._ Teaching means a lot to me, and I'm making so much progress with the students – I really don't want to give it up." She looked up at him earnestly. "But you _were_ right about one thing, Gaston: the baby comes first. He's the most important priority. So if my teaching _does _cause a problem, and we can't find a way to solve it…then I _will _give it up, for a while anyway."

Gaston was surprised. "You'd really do that?"

"If it's affecting the baby, yes," Belle said. "I promise."

"Well, that's more than fair," Gaston said. He brushed her hair out of her face affectionately. "You really are one heck of a woman, Belle."

Belle laughed. "Thanks." She rested her head on his shoulder, relieved. "I'm so glad we worked this all out."

"Me too," Gaston said.

Without thinking, she added impulsively, "Let's never fight again!"

Gaston snorted with laughter. "Yeah, right, Belle. We'll never, ever fight for the rest of our lives. Great idea."

Belle smiled sheepishly, realizing how ridiculous that was. "I guess that _was_ kind of idealistic," she admitted. "Given how pigheaded we both are."

"Just a little," Gaston agreed.

"Well, then, let's agree that when we _do _fight, we'll always work it out and make up," Belle suggested.

"Making up…now, _that _idea I like," Gaston said, and kissed her.

O o o o o o o oo o o oo o oo o o o o o o o o o o o oo o o o o o o o o o

On a day in mid-May, Gaston paced the living room restlessly, too agitated to sit still. "It's taking too long!" he said to Maurice. "Something's wrong!" He glanced up the stairs. "I'm going up there."

"Calm down," Maurice said reassuringly. "These things take time. It was the same when Belle was born." He tried not to show his own worry. That was his little girl up there.

Then they both heard Belle scream in pain. Gaston immediately leaped up the stairs three at a time. "Belle!" he shouted, bursting into the room.

He caught only a glimpse of Belle on the bed, her hair disheveled and damp with sweat, her face red, before the midwife jumped up, shocked. _"What _are you doing here?" she scolded, pushing Gaston out of the room. "Birthing babies is women's business!"

Out in the hall, Gaston protested, "But Belle – I heard her scream! She's hurt—"

The midwife clucked her tongue impatiently. "What did you think, squeezing out a baby is as easy as a stroll on a sunny day? This is what we women go through to bring forth your sons and daughters." She shook her head. "On my word, if men were the ones who had to bear the children, the human race would die out pretty quickly, I'd wager!"

"But Belle…" Gaston insisted urgently. "Is she all right?"

"She's fine. It's a perfectly normal birth in every way. Now let me get back to helping her! And stay downstairs!"

But Gaston lingered, unwilling to leave. "Can't I do anything?"

The midwife sighed and softened a little. "Look," she said in a kinder tone. "The baby won't be born for a few hours yet. Why don't you go to the tavern? That's what most of the men do. Talk to the other fathers, hear their stories. It'll ease your mind. I'll send someone to fetch you when your child is here."

"No," Gaston said stubbornly. "I'm not leaving Belle."

The midwife shrugged. "All right then, suit yourself. But stay downstairs. No more interruptions!" She went back in the bedroom and closed the door.

"How is Belle?" Maurice asked anxiously as Gaston descended the stairs.

"The midwife says she's fine and everything's normal. She wouldn't let me talk to Belle." Gaston sat down next to him. "I can't stand this waiting!"

"I know," Maurice agreed glumly. "The women suffer a lot in childbirth, it's true, but at least they know what's _happening."_

"Yeah," Gaston agreed. After a few moments, he stood up and started pacing again, unable to sit still. He _hated_ feeling so helpless. Belle was in pain, and Gaston's every instinct was to protect her, to fight whatever was hurting her and make it stop. But this was the only way to bring their baby into the world, and there was nothing he could do but wait and let nature take its course.

Finally, at 8:00 p.m., the midwife came downstairs. Gaston and Maurice both jumped up anxiously. "How is she?"

The midwife smiled. "Belle is fine. And…you have a baby boy."

"A boy! I knew it!" Gaston whooped and clapped Maurice on the back, then raced upstairs to the bedroom.

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Belle gazed at the baby in her arms with wonder and gratitude. Finally, he was really here – the child she had daydreamed about and waited for all these months. He looked so tiny, this brand-new little person about to begin a whole new life. The birth had been long, painful and exhausting, but as she looked at the baby, she knew it had all been worth it. "Welcome to the world," she whispered, and kissed his head.

The door opened and Gaston came in eagerly. Belle smiled at him, glad to see him. Together they had created this miracle from their love; she wanted him here to share it with her.

Gaston bent and kissed her. "How do you feel?"

"Tired, but happy," she replied.

He sat on the edge of the bed and beamed at her. "You really _did_ it, Belle!"

_"We_ did it," she answered, smiling. "Look." She shifted the tiny bundle in her arms and pulled back the corner of the swaddling blanket so Gaston could see what it held.

Gaston stared in awe at the tiny human being in the blanket. For once in his life, he was speechless. Finally he found his voice. "Wow."

Belle smiled. "Here, you can hold him."

Gaston looked panicked. "No…he's too little. I might hurt him by accident."

"Don't be silly. Here." She held the baby out to him. Nervously, Gaston took the tiny bundle and held him awkwardly. "Support his head with your hand, like this," Belle said, putting Gaston's hand under the baby's head.

The baby looked tinier than ever in Gaston's huge hands. Gaston grinned. "Hey, son," he said. "I'm your papa! I'm going to teach you how to hunt, and fish, and swim, and ride horses. You're little now, but one day you'll be big and strong, just like me!" Then he noticed the baby's tiny clenched fists. "Hey, look at that!" he said proudly. "He's going to be a fighter!"

Belle laughed. She didn't tell him that all babies did that.

Gaston carefully handed the baby back to her. "So…was it really bad?" he asked sympathetically. "I heard you scream. I was worried about you."

"Well, it did hurt a _lot,"_ Belle said honestly. "But it was worth it. The moment when I saw him for the first time…oh, it was the most incredible feeling, Gaston! To actually bring a new life into the world – it's truly a miracle."

"Yeah," Gaston agreed. Hearing her describe it, he felt a little jealous. _He_ would have liked to be the one to bringthe baby into the world, playing the most important role and being right at the center of the action - just like in every other part of his life - instead of waiting downstairs uselessly on the sidelines. And he could have handled the pain easy; that was nothing to him. In fact, he would have bragged about how tough he was to get through all the pain.

Oh, well. He couldn't change nature's setup. The important thing was that he had a son. His firstborn son. He beamed at the baby.

"So…what will we name him?" Belle asked.

"Gaston!" Gaston said immediately.

Belle frowned. "Well…we _could_…" she said doubtfully.

"What?" Gaston said, offended. "It's a _great _name!"

"I know," Belle said. "But Gaston…you're such a _legend _in this town. Is it fair to give a child the same name? I can't help thinking it would be a lot of pressure for him, trying to live up to the name of Gaston. What if he's not as strong as you, or as good a hunter? People might say, 'Well, his name may be Gaston, but he's certainly not as impressive as the _real_ Gaston.' You know? I think a child deserves to have his own name and his own unique identity. I mean, let's face it – there's only one Gaston!"

"That's true," Gaston acknowledged. He had to admit she made sense – he _was _one of a kind. He tried to think of another name, but drew a blank. He'd always assumed he'd name his son after himself; with that option gone, he was out of ideas. "What do _you_ think we should name him?"

"Well," Belle said, a bit shyly, "I do have one idea, but you might think it's silly."

"What is it?" Gaston asked curiously.

"When I was a little girl, my mother used to read me fairy tales," Belle explained. "I loved them, but I was always complained that they were too short. I would be enjoying a story, but then it would end and I'd be sad it was over. So my mother said she'd tell me a story that _never _ended – it would go on as long as I wanted it to." Belle smiled reminiscently. "Oh, it was the most marvellous story! Every night when she put me to bed, she would continue it. It was about a boy named Alain, who was brave and smart and had a good heart. But his family wasn't rich, and he was the youngest son, so he wasn't going to inherit anything. So he went off to seek his fortune. He came to a castle, and got a job as a stableboy. He had a way with animals – he could ride even the wildest horses, just because he was kind and understood them. Then one day, he rescued the princess from a fire! She fell in love with him for his kindness and courage. He loved her in return, but he never spoke of it to her. He thought she was only being kind to him – he didn't think a royal princess could possibly have feelings for a lowly stableboy."

Belle sighed with pleasure at the romance of it. "Then the king allowed Alain to become a page – and from there, he became a squire, and then a knight, and went on to be the most famous knight in the land. He had the most exciting adventures! He fought dragons and giants and monsters, he rescued orphans and damsels in distress, he met sorcerors and evil witches and elves, he performed incredible feats of strength and daring and swordplay—"

"Sounds like my kind of guy," Gaston said with a grin. "I like this story! Did he get to marry the princess?"

"Eventually," Belle said, smiling. "Anyway…my mother told me that story every night for years, and it meant so much to me. I always thought, if I had a son, I would love to name him Alain. He was such a noble, brave hero."

"Alain," Gaston repeated slowly, trying it out. "The noble, brave hero." He grinned. "I like it! What does the name Alain mean, do you know?"

Belle smiled. "It means 'handsome.'"

Gaston laughed. "That's _perfect!_ With us as parents, he's _bound_ to be handsome!" He grinned. "Alain it is. And you can tell us both the _whole_ story – I want to hear all of it!"

"I will," Belle said, pleased. She liked the thought of sharing her mother's story with her own family.

There was a timid knock at the door. It opened to reveal Maurice and the midwife. "May I come in?" Maurice said. "I wanted to give you a few minutes alone, but I can't wait another second to see my grandson!"

Belle laughed. "Of course, Papa!"

Overjoyed to see the baby, Maurice was every inch the proud grandpa. "Oh, Belle," he said with tears in his eyes. "He's beautiful. This is the happiest moment of my life…well, aside from the day you were born." He wiped his eyes. "I only wish your mother were here to see him."

"She _is_ here, Papa," Belle said softly. "When I was going through childbirth…it was like I could _feel _her here with me, encouraging me. She knows about the baby, I can feel it." She smiled. "Maybe she'll be his guardian angel."

"I'm sure she will," Maurice agreed.

"We named him Alain, Papa," Belle told him.

"Ah! After your mother's story!" Maurice said, delighted. "That's grand. It's a fine name, Belle."

After more talk about how beautiful the baby was, and questions about how Belle was feeling, Belle finally said, "I'm worn out. I think I'm going to rest a little, if you two don't mind." She gently placed the sleeping baby into the cradle next to the bed, lay back and closed her eyes.

"Of course, Belle," Gaston said. "You get some rest."

"I'll sit with her for a spell in case she needs anything," the midwife reassured the men.

The two men went downstairs.

Maurice sighed happily. "A grandson! That's the best news I've had in a long time."

"News…" Gaston repeated in startled realization. The legendary Gaston now had a son! It was the biggest news in the village since his wedding…but no one _knew _about it! "Why am I just standing here? I have to go _tell_ everyone!"

"Wait, let me come with you," Maurice said, smiling at his enthusiasm. "I'm the grandpa. I'd like to get a few congratulations too!"

Gaston grinned. "Sure. Let's go to the tavern – all the guys'll be there, waiting to hear. Come on!" With that, the proud father and grandfather headed out the door to spread the happy news.

_AN: Two more chapters to go!_


	30. Balancing Act

In the following weeks, Belle had to admit that she was glad she wasn't back at work yet. The baby took all her time and attention, and it was a relief to be able to focus solely on him without any distractions. Her friends were supportive, helping her learn the basics of feeding and changing and getting him on a schedule. As the days passed, she felt more at ease in her role as mother, getting attuned to the baby's needs, learning his moods and cries, his likes and dislikes.

She would often sit and simply gaze at him as he slept in his cradle, marveling at how miraculous and perfect he was. She felt such an intense, instinctive bond with her baby; it almost transcended the mere word "love". She would have done anything to protect him. Day by day, he amazed her at how fast he grew, how his personality seemed to develop, how quickly he learned. Each day, it seemed, he could do something new: focus with his eyes, smile, roll over, grab a toy.

Gaston loved watching Belle with their son, rocking him and singing softly to him. Ever since he'd first met her, Gaston had fantasized about just this type of domestic scene – Belle as his wife, happily taking care of their children. But after he'd gotten to truly know her, and discovered that she wanted much more out of life than housework and babies, he had secretly wondered what kind of mother she would make. Her insistence that she would work after the baby was born had seemed to confirm his fears that children might not be a top priority for her.

But now that the baby was here, Gaston could see for himself what a loving, nurturing mother Belle was. She seemed so in tune with Alain, as though they were connected. When he cried, she seemed to know immediately just what he wanted and how to soothe him with just a word or a touch. She became an expert at changing diapers, bathing and dressing him. The baby thrived under her loving care. Gaston was proud of her.

One night as she put the baby down in his cradle, she felt Gaston's arms slip around her from behind. He kissed her neck. "You know, you really are a great mother," he told her. "Alain is very lucky to have you."

Belle was touched. "Really?"

"Mm-hmm," Gaston said. "I'm proud of you, Belle. My own mother couldn't have done it better."

Belle turned to him and laid her head on his chest. "Thank you," she said sincerely. She knew how devoted Gaston's mother had been, and had secretly wondered if she could possibly measure up to Gaston's high standards. He demanded the best of everything, after all. It meant the world to her to hear that he felt she was doing a good job taking care of his precious son.

All that summer, Belle felt like she was in a cozy cocoon. It was a lovely, peaceful time of closeness with her husband and child. But as the months went by, she found herself looking forward to September and the start of school. As much as she loved being with her baby, she missed the mental stimulation of her job. The Wednesday afternoon sewing circle helped – being with her friends and sharing stories was reassuring, and it felt good to be with other adults. But she longed to get out of the house and get back to work.

Yet when the first day of school _did _finally arrive, Belle suddenly felt conflicted. She had looked forward to going back…but now that it was time, she felt torn about leaving her baby, even with someone as competent as Monique. Suddenly she understood how Gaston had felt months ago when he'd wanted her to quit her job. Who could possibly care for her baby like she could? She was so close to Alain – to leave him felt as though part of her was being ripped away.

Gaston was surprisingly supportive. Having seen firsthand what a loving and devoted mother she was, he was now on her side, knowing his baby wasn't lacking motherly care. He knew his wife very well: although she was conflicted now, he knew that if she didn't go back to teaching, she would eventually get restless and bored. "I'll be right here," he promised. "I'll keep an eye on him, even while Monique is here."

That made her feel a little better. "I'm not horrible for leaving him, am I?" she asked plaintively.

Gaston smiled and shook his head. "It'll be fine. Don't worry."

Once Monique arrived and Belle left the house, her spirits lifted. She was full of excitement and anticipation as she approached the schoolhouse. The children cheered when they saw her, and Belle felt a warm glow inside at the warm welcome. "Good morning! It's so good to see you all again!" she said happily. "Did you all have a good summer?" They flocked around her, all talking at once.

"Let's go inside, and you can tell me all about it," Belle said.

The hours flew by, and Belle almost couldn't believe it when noon arrived. She said goodbye to the children, then hurried home. Now that school was over, she suddenly missed Alain fiercely and couldn't wait to see him. Rushing into the house, she said, "I'm home!"

Monique was in the rocking chair, holding Alain. Her toddler daughter played on the floor with some toys. "Ah, here's Mama!" Monique said to the baby. She stood up and handed him to Belle.

Belle nuzzled him and kissed him. "I missed you so much!" Turning to Monique, she asked, "How was he?"

"He was fine," Monique assured him. "Slept for the first two hours you were gone, then woke up needing a diaper change. I changed him, played with him a little, and we were just sitting and rocking when you came in. He was no trouble at all. Your _husband,_ on the other hand…! He kept hovering over me, constantly asking if Alain was all right, saying 'Belle holds him differently' and 'Belle folds the diapers differently' and 'That's not the same song Belle sings to him!'" She shook her head in amused exasperation. "I finally sent him out to give my husband a message, just to give him something to do."

Belle laughed. "He's a little overprotective, huh?"

"Yeah, a bit. It's sweet though. To him, the sun rises and sets on this baby." Monique put on her coat. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, little guy!" She scooped up Anne.

"Do you want me to watch Anne for you any time?" Belle offered.

Monique thought about it. "Maybe on Friday afternoons, when you get back from school? That's when I do my weekly shopping."

"Great," Belle said, glad she could return the favor, at least a little.

Gaston came in as Monique was leaving. "Jacques says roast beef is fine for dinner," he told Monique.

"Thanks," she said. "Belle is back, so I'll see you tomorrow." She left.

"Welcome home! How was school?" Gaston asked Belle.

"Wonderful, but I missed this little guy," Belle said. "But Monique says he was fine."

"Yeah, he seemed happy enough," Gaston agreed. "Monique seems to know what she's doing." He smiled at her. "And look at you! You look so happy." He kissed her cheek. "I guess you were right after all. Everything worked out great."

"I guess so!" she said proudly, pleased that things were going so well.

Being back at school made Belle feel so alive. After months of taking care of the baby 24 hours a day, it felt so good to have a break every morning, to get out and do something she truly enjoyed, a job where she could use her mind. Then afterwards, she would hurry home, mentally refreshed and eager to be reunited with her baby. The four-hour day was perfect: long enough for her to miss him, yet not so long that it made her feel guilty about leaving him.

Teaching, to her, was the best of all jobs. The town council had given her a mandate to teach the children to read, write, and do simple arithmetic - but she had complete freedom as to how to do it. Belle loved the creativity of planning out a curriculum, choosing books she thought would spark the children's interest, and coming up with fun activities. In math, she used games to help them learn, letting them pretend to be storekeepers and customers, or playing number games to win nuts and candies. In reading, she liked to sit with them, one on one, and help them grasp a new concept. It was so rewarding to see the children progressing, learning to read at higher and higher levels, and growing to truly _love _books just as she did.

She also emphasized creativity and critical thinking – aspects that their other teachers had discouraged, preferring rote memorization. Each day, Belle set aside 15 minutes to read aloud to the children, letting them simply enjoy hearing the story without having to work to decipher the words. Then, she would discuss it with them. If the story wasn't over yet, she asked them to predict what would happen next, which always brought a lively class discussion. She had them write essays about whether or not they liked the story, and why, and what they would do if they were the protagonist. She even had them make up their own imaginative stories and read them aloud, or dress up and act them out. The children loved the fact that a teacher actually wanted to hear what THEY had to say, and Belle enjoyed seeing the creative ideas they came up with.

It thrilled Belle to think that she was single-handedly having a profound effect on the village, helping to create a new generation of readers and thinkers. When these children grew up, they wouldn't call anyone "odd" simply for liking to read, she thought with satisfaction. She left work each day feeling exhilarated. And then, back at home, she had the joy of watching her own child learn and grow, and spending time with the husband she loved.

But as the weeks went by, Belle discovered to her dismay that being back at work had one very serious drawback: it threw off her schedule of household chores. Before, she would do the housework and laundry from 8:00 to 10:00 in the morning while Alain napped, then take him with her to do shopping or errands when he awoke. Then at 2:00, when he took his afternoon nap, she would lie down herself for some much-needed rest. When the baby awoke at 4:00, Belle would get up, feeling refreshed from her own nap. Gaston usually came home around the same time, and he'd play with the baby while Belle cooked dinner.

Now, however, she was teaching at school from 8:00 to 12:00 - the time she used to devote to housework and errands. When she got home, she had to feed the baby and take care of him, and before she turned around, it was suddenly 2:00 and time to put him down for his afternoon nap. Having been up since 5:30 a.m., Belle was tired by then – but now she no longer had the luxury of taking a nap herself, because there was too much to do. As soon as she put the baby in his cradle, she sat down to grade papers and homework and work out her lesson plan for the next day. Next thing she knew, it was 4:00, Alain was awake, Gaston was home, and she hadn't done a lick of housework or laundry. She rushed to get dinner on the table, feeling exhausted and stressed.

She told her friends about it at the Wednesday sewing circle. "No matter how I try to work it out, there's not enough hours in a day!" she complained. "If I put the baby in a carrier and take him with me to the market while he's napping, I can get the grocery shopping done - but then I end up staying up late doing my work for school the next day, and I'm exhausted…and I still don't have time for housework or laundry!"

Cecile clucked her tongue sympathetically. "That's rough," she conceded. "I know I always feel like there's never enough time to get everything done, and that's _without _having an extra job like you do."

Monique said hesitantly, "Belle…don't get mad…but is the job worth it? Maybe it _would _be a good idea to take some time off?"

"Oh, please don't say that!" Belle begged. "I love teaching. And the children are doing so well. I'd hate to give it up! There _has _to be a way."

"Maybe we could help, somehow?" Amelie offered.

Belle shook her head. "You've all done so much for me, and you have your own work to do." Her face took on a determined look. "I'll find a way to make it work out. Somehow."

But by mid-October, she was exhausted. She felt like she was drowning. The house was getting messier and messier, her list of chores seemed to get longer every day, and she felt like she would never catch up.

One day, she swept and mopped the floor, then sank down on the couch, glad to have at least gotten one thingclean, even if the rest of the place was a mess.

A little while later, Gaston came home and kissed her hello. "I bagged a deer and a few rabbits today – they're in the storehouse. How was your day?" he asked.

"Fine. I mopped the floor," she added, wanting him to know that she was getting at least _some_ housework done.

"Oh, good, it needed it." He peered into the kitchen and said helpfully, "You missed a spot. Over by the stove, see?"

Belle closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to kill him. Did he _have _to criticize her? "I'll get to it in a minute." She was so tired, she felt like she could hardly stand up.

Gaston sat down and picked up Alain. "Hey, big guy! Did you have a good day?" He tickled the baby under the chin and played with him for a few minutes. Then he cast a sidelong glance at Belle, who was still on the couch. "So…is dinner going to be ready soon?"

That was the last straw. "Can I sit and rest for _one minute?" _Belle exploded. "You'll _get _your dinner, don't worry!"

"Okay, _okay!_ I'm just asking! Don't bite my head off!" Gaston snapped back.

Belle sighed. "I'm sorry, you're right," she apologized. "I guess I'm just a little tired."

Gaston frowned. "I think this is all too much for you, Belle," he said. "You're working at the school, you're taking care of the baby, you're trying to do housework – it's too much for one person to handle. You can't go on like this. It's not good for you."

Belle tensed, dreading where this was leading. Before the baby was born, she had promised that if her working caused problems, she would give it up. Now Gaston was going to hold her to that promise and force her to quit.

"I'm fine, Gaston!" she protested. "I can manage."

"Belle—" Gaston began.

"_No!" _Belle jumped up. "I just needed to rest for a minute, that's all. I'll cook dinner right now." She hurried into the kitchen and started chopping vegetables.

Her emotions were a jumble of guilt, resentment, doubt and exhaustion. On the one hand, she was doing so much, working so hard…it just wasn't _fair!_ Why did _she_ have to do everything? She felt angry at Gaston for making so many demands on her. But then, hadn't she gotten herself into this, by insisting on working even when the baby was young, positive she could juggle so many responsibilities?

Part of her wanted to give in, admit that she couldn't keep up with it all…but if she did, Gaston would demand that she give up her teaching job. And if that happened, she knew she'd never be able to go back. By the time Alain was old enough, she'd be pregnant again, and have to stay home with the second child…and then the third. Her career would be lost forever. She'd be just another village housewife, nothing more.

Every time Gaston asked why dinner was late or raised an eyebrow at the mess his home had become, she was filled with rage and resentment. Didn't he _know_ how hard she was working? Did he think it was easy, taking care of a baby AND a house AND a job? She was doing her best! Every look or comment from him felt to her like an attack or criticism. She found herself snapping irritably at him whenever he looked at her wrong or asked a question.

But then she'd feel guilty, because he'd been out hunting all day to get food for the family, and he just wanted his dinner, which wasn't unreasonable. Gaston had done so much to try to make her happy – learning that poem for her, taking her to Paris, giving her a library of her own, getting her the teaching job…She loved him, and she wanted so much to make him happy, too – and what made him happy was so _simple:_ a clean house, clean clothes and a hot meal. Why was it so impossible for her to give that to him? What was _wrong_ with her? Why couldn't she handle everything she was supposed to do?

Gaston came into the kitchen. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Belle said, not looking at him.

Gaston watched her chopping the vegetables furiously. He was concerned about her. She had lost weight, she looked pale…she was working too hard, and she was exhausted. But no matter how hard she worked, she couldn't keep up with it all. The household was falling apart, and Belle was running herself ragged. They couldn't go on like this. Something had to be done.

"Belle," he said firmly. "We need to talk about this."

"Gaston, I told you, it's _fine!"_ Belle insisted. "I can get everything done! Now go get washed up. I'll have dinner ready soon."

Gaston threw up his hands in frustration. He wanted to help her, to talk it over with her and come up with a solution, like she always said they should, but she wouldn't even admit there was a problem. She just kept insisting she could do it all and everything was fine. She was so stubborn!

One morning, Belle was hurrying to get dressed for school while Gaston got ready to go out hunting. He looked in his dresser drawer and frowned. "Belle, didn't you do the wash yet? I don't have any clean shirts."

"I'll do it after school," Belle said absently, quickly running a brush through her hair. There, ready. She scooped up Alain and sat in the rocking chair to nurse him before putting him down for his morning nap.

"But what am I supposed to wear _now?" _Gaston complained.

"I don't _know!"_ Belle snapped in exasperation. "Can't you see I'm busy?" Alain started crying, upset by the yelling. Belle glared at Gaston. "Look, now you've got the baby upset!"

There was a knock at the front door. It was LeFou. "Ready to go?" he asked.

Gaston found yesterday's shirt and pulled it on. "Definitely." He grabbed his rifle and headed out the door, glad to be away from the tension.

LeFou could see how on edge Gaston was. Once they were out in the forest, he ventured, "How's everything going?"

"Not great," Gaston said grimly as they hiked along. "Belle's so busy working and taking care of the baby that she doesn't have time or energy to do the housework. She's trying, but it's just too much for her to handle. She's tired and cranky all the time, and the house is a mess, and I don't have any clean shirts…We're both miserable."

LeFou was sympathetic. "Did you talk to her about it?"

"I've _tried!" _Gaston said in frustration. "But every time I bring it up, she bites my head off. She just keeps insisting she can handle it!" He shook his head in annoyance. "I _knew_ it was going to be too hard for her to go back to work and take care of everything else too. But she's so stubborn! She thinks she can do everything."

"Maybe you're rubbing off on her," LeFou suggested.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know…if someone said you couldn't handle something, you'd get mad," LeFou explained.

Gaston frowned, trying to work out if that was an insult or not. LeFou added hastily, "Of course, you _can _handle everything!" He didn't want to offend Gaston.

"Well, Belle can't," Gaston said.

"So what are you going to do about it?" LeFou asked.

Gaston abruptly stopped walking. His face took on a look of determination. "I'm going to solve this problem once and for all. If Belle won't deal with it, then it's up to me." He turned back the way they had come. "Forget hunting today. This is more important. I have to go see someone."

"Oh…okay," said LeFou, bewildered. "I hope it works out."

"It will," Gaston said firmly, heading back toward the village.

O o o o o o o o oo o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o oo o o o o o o o o o o

At 5:00, Gaston headed home, bracing himself for an argument. He had done what was best for all of them, but he knew Belle would probably be angry that he'd made the decision without consulting her. But how _could_ he consult her when she refused to talk about it, and wouldn't even admit that there was a problem? No matter what she said, he knew he'd done the right thing.

He entered the house, hoping dinner was ready, but to his disappointment, no smell of cooking met his nose. "Belle?"

He went into the living room, and stopped. Belle was asleep on the couch. Alain was in the cradle, half-dozing, but he opened his eyes and smiled when he saw his father. Gaston smiled back. To see your own baby looking up at you and smiling was a great feeling. "Hey, big guy," he said. "I'll be with you in a minute."

Gaston turned to Belle, ready to wake her up so she could get dinner started, but then he stopped. She looked so utterly worn out. His heart went out to her. She was trying so hard to do everything, and killing herself in the process, all because she was too bullheaded to admit she'd taken on too much responsibility. He shook his head. Well, things were about to change. He wasn't going to let her run herself ragged like this anymore. He was glad about the decision he'd made.

Letting Belle sleep, he took Alain out of the cradle and put him on the rug with some toys. Then he rummaged in the kitchen for something to eat. He found some dried venison and a bowl of fruit. Well, it was something. He sat down at the table, eating and watching Alain play with his rattle.

On the couch, Belle stirred. "Oh…" she said, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She looked surprised to see Gaston home. "What time is it?"

"5:30," Gaston replied.

Belle jumped up guiltily. "Oh, I must have overslept. Alain didn't wake me up like he usually does. I'll get dinner started." She rushed into the kitchen.

"Never mind. I had some of the leftover venison," Gaston said. "Take care of Alain. He's gotta be hungry by now."

"Oh, of course," Belle said, flustered. She picked up the baby, sat down and nursed him. "I'm sorry about dinner. I didn't mean to sleep so long."

"It just goes to show what I've been saying," Gaston said firmly. "You're trying to do too much, Belle, and it's not helping either of us. You're teaching every day, you're taking care of Alain, and you're too tired to do the housework and cooking, but you're trying to do it anyway, and you can't. You're wearing yourself out, and I won't let it go on anymore. You'll make yourself sick, and then where will we be?"

Belle was about to argue. But then she closed her mouth, and her shoulders sagged in defeat. She knew he was right. She was so tired. She couldn't keep on like this. She had promised Gaston that she would quit teaching if it became a problem, and now he was going to make her do it. She couldn't blame him.

But her eyes filled with tears at the thought of giving up her job. Being a teacher had become such an important part of her life and her identity. It was who she _was. _She sighed, and put Alain back down on the rug. After everything she'd been through, all her dreams, her determination to have more out of life… was she doomed to end up nothing but a housewife after all, to devote her entire existence to cooking and cleaning? The fate she had always dreaded?

Gaston looked her in the eye. "I have something to tell you, Belle. I know you don't like me making decisions for you, but this time I had to. We had a big problem, but you wouldn't talk to me about it. So…I took matters into my own hands."

Belle immediately bristled at hearing that he'd gone behind her back. How dare he? This was a major life decision - she at least deserved the respect of being _involved_ in it, not being informed after the fact! She began to get angry. "What did you do?" she asked with a dangerous edge to her voice, although she was sure she knew the answer.

Gaston folded his arms defiantly. "I went to see Mme. Nettoyage today. Since her husband died, she's had a hard time making ends meet, so she takes in washing and things like that. So, I hired her to come here three days a week. She'll clean the house, do the laundry, and cook dinner."

Belle's mouth dropped open in astonishment. That was the last thing she'd expected to here. "You hired someone to do the housework?"

Gaston nodded defensively. "I know, you're gonna tell me that's _your_ job and you can handle it, but—"

Belle flung herself into his arms and hugged him. "Oh, thank you!"

Gaston was stunned. "You're…_happy_ about it?"

"Of course!" Belle said, laughing in sheer relief. "Why on earth would I be mad? Did you think I love doing housework?"

"Well, you kept insisting that you could do it all yourself," Gaston explained. "You got mad if I even _suggested _it might be too much for you! So I thought you'd be insulted that I hired someone else to do it."

"No, I'm _thrilled,"_ Belle said. "To know I won't have to do so much anymore…it's like a huge weight off my back!" Then she frowned. "But Gaston…why did you go behind my back like that, acting so _bossy_ about it? You know I hate that! You could have just _told _me you wanted to do this. I would have agreed with you."

"I _tried _to tell you! But you wouldn't _listen!"_ Gaston said in frustration. "Every time I mentioned that you were working too hard, you just snapped at me and kept insisting you could handle it. You wouldn't even _talk _about it!"

"Oh." Belle looked guilty. She sat down on the couch. "I'm sorry. I guess I've been a bit hard to live with the past few weeks, huh?"

"A little," Gaston agreed, sitting next to her.

Belle sighed. "It's just…I promised you that if my working caused any problems, I'd quit. But I love teaching so much…I didn't want to give it up. So every time you said that I looked tired or that dinner was late, I thought you were going to tell me to quit my job. That's why I kept stopping you. I just didn't want to hear it."

Gaston looked surprised. "Make you quit your job?" He chuckled. "I'm not suicidal, Belle! I _know_ you'd never stand for that!"

Belle looked sheepish. "I guess not," she admitted. "But I thought you didn't want me to work when Alain was little?"

"Well, I wasn't thrilled about it at first, but that's only because I thought it would be bad for the baby," Gaston said. "But Alain is doing great. You're a wonderful mother, Belle. I have no complaints there. And I know how much teaching means to you. I could see how happy you were to be back at school again. I wouldn't tell you to give it up just so you could do more housework. Yeah, I do like having a clean house and all that, but that doesn't mean _you _have to be the one to do it. Now it'll all get done, and you won't have to worry."

Belle leaned against him. "Thank you so much for understanding," she said gratefully.

Gaston put his arm around her and gave her an affectionate squeeze. "Well, you're my girl, aren't you?"

"Always," Belle said fondly. "But if you're hiring someone to do housework so I can keep my job, it should come out of _my_ wages, all right? That's only fair."

Gaston reflected. "Okay, that makes sense." He grinned. "So, I did good, right?" He was pleased with himself for solving all their problems.

"Yes, you did." Then Belle looked a little sad. "I just wish…"

"What?" Gaston asked.

"I wish I could have given you what you wanted," Belle said softly. "You've done so much to make me happy, Gaston… That's the other reason I kept trying so hard to do everything myself. I wanted to make you happy too. I mean, all you wanted was a clean house and clean clothes and a hot meal, but I couldn't even do _that_ for you." She sighed. "I feel like I've let you down."

"Hey!" Gaston said sharply, chucking her under the chin. "No talking like that! You're my wife! And I only have the _best,_ understand?"

"Yes. But I know you always expected to marry a girl who would cook huge meals and keep your house spotless," Belle pointed out.

"Yeah, I did…but then I fell in love with you instead," Gaston said, shrugging. "Anyway, _you _probably expected to marry a guy who loves reading and knows everything about books, right?"

Belle chuckled. "That's true. I did. But Hervé cured me of that." She smiled at him. "And then I found something I liked better."

"There you go," Gaston said, nodding. "Look, Belle. There's a hundred girls in this village who would've been happy to marry me and spend all their time cooking and cleaning. But they were boring. _You're _the only girl I've ever wanted. You're smart, and spunky, and brave…you read me stories about heroes, and you tell me all kinds of things I never knew about, and you go exploring in the forest with me…No other girl is like you! And besides, what other man in town has a wife as important as mine? Everyone in town sends their kids to you for schooling! Everywhere I go, people keep telling me what a fantastic teacher you are. Think about it, Belle: 10 years from now, this village will be run by adults who were all taught by _you_. Don't you think I _love_ that?" He smiled proudly. "My wife is one of the most important people in the whole village!"

Belle smiled and preened jokingly. "I guess I _am _pretty incredible, aren't I?"

"You know it! You're the only one worthy of me," Gaston said with a grin.

She giggled and hugged him. On the floor, Alain looked up and gurgled. Belle laughed. "He's saying that _he's _incredible, too!"

"Well, of course he is! He's our son!" Gaston picked up the baby. "Aren't you lucky, Alain? You're an incredible baby with incredible parents!"

"I think we're all very lucky," Belle said, and kissed him.

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_Next up: The final chapter!_


	31. Life is Like a Box of Chocolates

The arrival of Mme. Nettoyage made all the difference in the world. Now Belle could focus on the things she loved – her teaching and her family – without the stress of household drudgery. Mme. Nettoyage came on Mondays, Wednesday, and Fridays to clean the house thoroughly, wash all the clothes, and cook a big dinner. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Belle just did basic tidying up. If there were leftovers from the dinner Mme. Nettoyage had made the night before, they ate those; if not, Belle just threw together something simple and easy.

During the week, she taught school in the morning, then spent time with the baby when she got home. Belle's teaching was going well: the students were progressing at a remarkable rate in reading, writing and math, and they were eager to read books and discuss the stories afterwards. And Alain was thriving, growing quickly and discovering new things every day.

On Saturdays, they spent time together as a family. Maurice had invented an ingenious pouch that Belle could strap on to carry the baby in front, leaving her hands free. Sometimes she and Gaston would go riding in the woods – no galloping or jumping, since Belle had the baby with her, but they would explore all the secret glades that Gaston knew, or get off the horses and track silently to see the wildlife. Little Alain loved to look at birds, waterfalls, and all the other sights of the forest.

Other times, they would take a carriage to Clermont-Ferrand. There they would browse through the bookstore for new novels for Belle to read herself, action/adventure stories she and Gaston could enjoy together, and picture books for the baby. Belle also enjoyed picking up books about other countries; Gaston had promised that when Alain was older, they would take a big trip to whatever exotic place Belle wanted to see. After the bookstore, they would go to other stores and buy hunting supplies for Gaston, or items for the horses, or clothes for Alain, who seemed to outgrow them every day. After shopping, they would have a relaxing lunch in the café.

On Sundays, Maurice came to dinner. He was doing very well for himself now; his woodcutting invention was now being used in all the local villages, and he was planning his own trip to Paris to meet Jacques de Vaucanson, who was going to introduce him to important investors and inventors in the capital and help him expand to all of France. But lately, Maurice was devoting most of his inventing efforts to building ingenious toys to amuse his little grandson, whom he adored. Every Sunday, Belle would put effort into making a special family dinner – she did like the satisfaction of cooking a meal for her family, as long as she didn't have the pressure of doing it every day. She and Gaston also began to socialize more with their other married friends – LeFou and Amelie, Jacques and Monique, Emile and Cecile, Gerard and Josette. Life settled into an enjoyable routine.

But one day in November, when Alain was six months old, Monique didn't show up as usual. Belle was dressed and ready to go, and she worried she was going to be late. "Where can she be?" she fretted.

Then there was a knock at the door. It was Jacques. "Belle, Monique sent me to tell you that she's sick," he said apologetically. "She can't watch Alain today."

"Oh," Belle said sympathetically. "I hope she feels better soon! Does she need me to take Anne later?"

"No, that's all right. Monique's sister took Anne to her house for the day, so Monique could get some rest."

"Oh, that's good," Belle said. "But I'll stop by to see Monique later in the afternoon. I'll bring her some chicken soup."

"Thanks," Jacques said. "She'll appreciate that." He left.

"What are you going to do now?" Gaston asked.

"I don't know!" Belle said, trying to think. "It's Tuesday. Mme. Nettoyage won't be here today. And I'm late for school as it is!" She looked at Gaston. "Look, you'll just have to watch him today."

_"Me?"_ Gaston was startled.

"Why not? You're his father. You play with him, don't you?"

"Yeah, I _play _with him – but you're always right there! You're the one who takes care of him if he needs something!" Gaston protested. "What if he starts crying and won't stop?" He was nervous at the very idea of being alone with Alain. Belle was the mother – _she_ was the expert on taking care of him.

Belle sighed. "Gaston, it's not that hard! He'll nap for a couple of hours anyway. When he wakes up, just play with him till I get home."

"But what if—"

"Look," Belle said in exasperation. "If he starts crying and you really can't handle it, just take him to Amelie's or Cecile's – I'm sure they wouldn't mind watching him for an hour or two. Okay?"

"Why can't you take him there now?" Gaston suggested.

"Because I'm already late as it is!" Belle said impatiently. "Besides, he's sleeping now. If I try to take him somewhere, he'll wake up and be cranky. Just deal with it for today, all right? After school I'll ask Amelie if she can watch him for the next few days until Monique is better. But right now, I really have to go!"

Gaston took a deep breath. "Okay. I'll watch him."

"Thanks," Belle said, and hurried out the door.

For the first two hours that Belle was gone, Alain slept quietly in the cradle. Gaston began to breathe easier. Watching a baby wasn't so hard after all, he decided, starting to feel a bit cocky.

Then, at 10:00, Alain woke up crying. Gaston had been sitting at the table cleaning his rifle, and was startled by the sound. What should he do now? True, he often played with his son, but as soon as the baby started crying, Gaston would immediately hand him over to Belle, and she magically calmed him down and knew just what he wanted. But Belle wasn't here now. Gaston began to panic. He had no idea what to do.

Then he remembered what Belle had said: if Alain started crying and Gaston couldn't handle it, he should bring the baby to Amelie or Cecile's house. Gaston breathed a sigh of relief. He was off the hook.

He scooped up Alain and started for the door – but then stopped as realization struck him. If people saw him rushing through the village with a crying baby, they'd run up to him and ask what was wrong, if there was an emergency or the baby was injured. And what would he say? "No, everything's fine. It's just that the baby is crying and I don't know what to do." He'd look like a complete idiot! It would be utterly humiliating.

He gritted his teeth. No. He was _Gaston!_ The strongest, bravest man alive! He could hit a bulls-eye from an impossible distance, climb mountains, tame wild horses, lift the heaviest weights. He had even fought wolves single-handedly! He could handle _anything! _

Even something as terrifying as a crying baby.

"It's okay! Don't cry!" he said anxiously to the baby. He tried to think. Why did babies cry? Sometimes because they were hungry…but Belle had given Alain a good feeding before she left. Along with nursing, she had recently started giving him mashed banana and oatmeal, and he'd had quite a few spoonfuls of it this morning. Belle had said he wouldn't be hungry again till after she got back.

Then he had another thought. Hesitantly, he pulled back the corner of the cloth fastened around the baby's bottom, and peered in. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. _That's it, _he thought with a grimace.

Well, it wasn't the pleasantest of tasks…but then again, he did muck out his horses' stalls every day, he reminded himself. Alain's tiny "output" was nothing compared to what Tristan and Etoile could produce. He could get through this.

Gaston went to get a rag and dipped it in a bucket of water. He clumsily wiped off the baby's bottom, then threw the rag and cloth away. He found the drawer full of cloth squares that Belle used for diapers. He took one, put it on the table, set the baby on top of it, then folded the front up between the baby's legs and over his tummy. So far, so good. Then he frowned. How to keep it in place? Belle used pins, but there was no way Gaston was going to try to fasten sharp pins next to the baby's tender skin when he had no idea what he was doing. Much too dangerous!

He thought a moment, then lit up, having an idea. He went to the closet where he kept his fishing tackle and hunting gear. With his hunting knife, he cut a length of twine. Then he came back to Alain, wrapped the twine all around his tummy and back and between his legs, and tied it securely in an expert knot. Pleased with his ingenuity, he stepped back to admire his handiwork with satisfaction. _That _would hold the cloth in place!

Now that he was clean, Alain wasn't crying anymore. He looked at up at his father curiously. Gaston put a blanket on the floor and set the baby on it with some of his rattles and little toys. "There you go!"

He sat down in his chair and went back to cleaning his rifle. Seeing the baby watching him curiously, he began to talk as he worked. "See this, son? It's a rifle. A hunter's best friend. You'll have one too, when you're older. But you'll have to learn how to take care of it. That means cleaning it. First step is to unload it – that's very important. Otherwise you can accidentally shoot your foot off! Don't want that! Then you remove the bolt, and hold the muzzle up towards the light to inspect the bore…" He kept chattering away as he swabbed out the bore, cleaned the receiver and breechblock, and applied a coat of oil to the rifle. "All done! Now I just put it back together, see?" Gaston was enjoying himself now. The baby was a good audience, watching him with interest.

But then, out of the blue, Alain started crying again. His tiny face screwed up into wrinkles and he let out a wail. "What's wrong?" Gaston asked in concern, as though the infant could answer. He grabbed a rattle and shook it hopefully in front of the baby, but Alain only cried louder.

Gaston looked at him helplessly, feeling at a loss. What did Belle do when Alain started crying? He tried to think. She usually nursed the baby to settle him down, but that wasn't an option now, Gaston thought with a grimace. The baby's diaper had already been changed, so that wasn't the problem…what else was there to do?

The only other thing Gaston recalled Belle or Monique doing to soothe the baby was to rock him and sing to him. Should he try that?

Awkwardly, Gaston picked up the screaming baby. "Take it easy, son!" he said anxiously. He struggled to remember what songs the women sang to calm Alain down. They were mostly sentimental lullabies about butterflies and moonbeams and such. But Gaston had never paid close attention. He didn't know any lullabies. The only songs he really knew well were drinking songs.

Still…a song was a song, right? "Okay, Alain, pay attention!" Gaston said. He cleared his throat. Bouncing the wailing child slightly, he began to sing:

"Let's be jovial, fill our glasses,  
Madness 'tis for us to think  
How the world is rules by asses—"

He broke off guiltily. Belle probably wouldn't approve of him using that kind of language in front of the baby. "Pretend you didn't hear that," he told Alain. He tried another one:

"Give me but a friend and a glass, boys,  
I'll show you what 'tis to be gay,  
I'll not care a fig for a lass, boys,  
Nor love my brief youth away…"

The song caught Alain's attention. He was used to Belle and Monique's sweet, high voices singing to him. Gaston's deep, rich baritone was a novelty. He stopped crying to listen.

Gaston grinned at the baby. "You like that, huh? A lot better than all those silly songs about buttercups and fairies your mama sings, right?" He shifted the baby in his arms. "One day you'll be old enough to go to the tavern with me. We'll have a time then, won't we?"

He launched into another drinking song. Forgetting that lullabies were supposed to be quiet, he belted it out lustily at the top of his lungs, just like he did at the tavern, but the baby didn't seem to mind. After walking around and singing for awhile, Gaston sat down in the rocking chair, rocking as he continued to sing.

Alain yawned and blinked sleepily. Gaston yawned too. Taking care of a baby was tiring! But Alain seemed calm now. It would probably be all right if Gaston just rested his eyes for a moment…

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o oo o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

As soon as school was over, Belle hurried home, hoping everything was all right. She felt a little guilty leaving Gaston alone with the baby. She half-expected to return to find Alain screaming and crying, and Gaston frazzled and angry at her for putting him in this position.

But as she approached the house, all seemed silent. Gaston must have taken her advice and brought Alain to Amelie's or Cecile's house, she thought.

She entered the living room…and stopped, a smile slowly spreading over her face. Gaston was in the rocking chair, asleep. Nestled comfortably in the crook of his arm was Alain, also asleep. They looked utterly peaceful. Belle's heart swelled with love for them. There was just something so sweet about a big, muscular, tough guy tenderly holding a tiny baby. Then she noticed with amusement that Alain had some kind of rope tied around his diaper. Apparently Gaston had found his own way of doing things.

She walked over and kissed Gaston's cheek. He stirred slightly but didn't wake. Then she gently kissed the top of the baby's head.

She was about to go into the kitchen to fix lunch…but then paused. There was no rush, she decided. When Gaston awoke, they could have soup and sandwiches. That only took a few minutes to fix.

But right now, her two boys were napping peacefully, the house was clean (thanks to Mme. Nettoyage's efforts the previous day), and all was blissfully quiet. Belle realized, with a little thrill, that she actually had a rare moment to herself. Why not take advantage of it?

She put on a pot of water, and when it boiled, she made herself a cup of tea. Then she went to fetch the book she was in the middle of reading. She sat down in the overstuffed armchair, took a sip of tea, and set the cup on the little table next to her.

Before opening the book, she took a moment to simply sit and marvel at how unexpectedly her life had turned out. Two and a half years earlier, she had been miserable. She had felt like an outcast in the village, she was terribly lonely, her life seemed unbearably dull, and the only pleasure she had was in reading. She longed for adventure, but there seemed no way to get it outside of her books. And she was being pestered by a man whom she thought was the most arrogant, conceited, selfish, brainless oaf she'd ever met, she recalled, smiling in amusement.

Yet now, here she was: married to that very man, and feeling more of a connection with him that she'd ever felt with anyone else…a man who truly loved her and appreciated her for who she was. She had a fulfilling, rewarding career that she enjoyed, in which she was making a difference and passing her love of books on to a new generation. She was still living in the tiny village – yet now she was accepted, and had good friends she could count on. And now, she had a baby, a new little life to nurture and watch grow into a real person, with his own unique personality and ideas.

She used to believe that adventure could only be had by traveling to far-off places. But now, she realized that life itself was the biggest adventure of all. You never knew what would happen next.

She gazed fondly at her husband and son, dozing in the rocking chair. Then, with a sigh of contentment, Belle opened her book and began to read.

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_Author's note: And...that's the end! Before I go on, I must show you an ADORABLE photo that perfectly illustrates this last chapter. It's from a wonderful Dutch BATB site run by Dutch FF-Lover. Go to w w w . beautyandthebeast . nl slash germany59 . htm (but without any spaces, and a real slash instead of the word "slash.")_

_Now, then: I just want to a say a huge, heartfelt "Thank you!" to everyone who reviewed this story (either the first time this was posted, or the re-posted one). When I first started writing this story, I was afraid that people would throw rotten tomatoes at me for daring to pair up these two! So I really appreciate readers being willing to give it a chance and suspend disbelief. I'm very happy that so many people liked the story, and especially that they felt that I kept Belle and Gaston in character, because that was the real challenge. I'm so glad it worked. Thanks so much for all the comments - they mean a lot to me!_

_This story now has a sequel called "This Idyllic Scene"- click on my profile if you want to check it out.. :) The sequel takes place 13 years later, so just pretend that time goes really fast over these next couple of weeks, LOL._

_Well, I guess that's about it. Thanks again so much to all readers and reviewers! You rock!_


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